


Moonrise

by LogicIsGod327



Series: Drenched in Moonlight [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Epic supernatural battles, F/M, I don't care what S6 says, I reject your canon and substitute it with my own, I should write more dick jokes to appease him, M/M, Part II!, Shakespeare is rolling in his grave, Stiles is named Genim, Supernatural Shenanigans, The Painfully Obvious Twilight Parody™, The Sheriff is named John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicIsGod327/pseuds/LogicIsGod327
Summary: It’s the last week of July, glorious sunny weather fills the town. Stiles and Derek lie on the beach, soaking up the last of the sunlight like plants. The tinny sound of an old radio cranking out indie hits rolls from nearby. It’s not quite sunset, less than an hour before at best, and the beach is nearly empty. Couples sit at picnic tables back from the water, and the delighted screams of a little boy and his mother echo from the other end of the beach, but the two are nearly alone...+The entire town of Moonlight Falls is caught in the crosshairs of an evil so ancient it nearly destroyed the world once before. Stiles, now something neither human or immortal, must confront this evil, and stand with those he loves, or risk losing it all.





	1. Ephemeris

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to William Shakespeare, Pendleton Ward, Steph Meyer, and others. Enjoy.

**July**

“Well, Doc?” Stiles asks, sitting on the exam table in the office at Oregon Health and Science University Hospital in Portland, having made the long drive down from Moonlight Falls.

The doctor, an Indian woman in her thirties named Sarah Naveen that Deaton recommended, raises her head from the page.

“If I may be frank, Stiles,” She says, “I'm going to tell you what _is_ normal first, since that will take me less time.”

“What's normal?” The former vampire asks, voice colored with fear.

Dr. Naveen glances at her chart. “Your blood pressure, blood oxygen retention rate, cholesterol and blood sugar are all perfect.”

Stiles gapes. “That's all that's normal?!” He demands in shock.

Sidra nods. “Yes. As for what's abnormal, I ran an immune system test, your T-cell numbers are way up, and they easily conquered almost any illness I threw their way. I used a sample of the HIV virus from a human patient and introduced it to ten separate samples of your blood. Four times, your immune system wiped out the virus. With treatment, you would easily be cured.”

“But what about the dysentery outbreak that affected Chris' family?” Stiles asks.

The doctor sits at her desk. “The 1831 dysentery outbreak is well studied in medical schools across the world. It was compounded by a very difficult flu season and the fact that it was 1831. Medicine has advanced quite a bit. But, I digress. Continuing on, your physical ability is frankly ridiculous.”

“How so?”

“Well, you ran three miles before you even started sweating, and had to stop at twelve miles, which you ran in less than half an hour. Your peak speed was thirty two miles per hour, four miles faster than Usain Bolt, and you sustained it for a period of four minutes. You were able to bench press 472 without much effort, and you deadlifted 446. For someone of your size, that should be impossible. So, when I ran your CT scan, I checked your muscle structure.” The doctor pulls out an image from his scan, and points to the cross-section of Stiles' bicep.

“Your muscle fiber density is nearly three times that of a standard human, and your bones are even more fascinating. They're not quite hollow, but their porosity is increased significantly, yet the overall strength of the bones has increased. You're going to find it extraordinarily difficult to break a bone.”

“So I'm some sort of superhuman?” Stiles queries, a grin slowly painting his face.

Sarah shrugs. “Essentially, yes. But there is a very significant caveat.” She regards the boy gravely. “Your heart is very much human, and I suspect that has something to do with that, as an immortal, you don't have a heartbeat. So, in essence, it remains unchanged, since it has no purpose. You can't run at your top speed or exercise your full strength for long periods of time, or you risk giving yourself a heart attack.”

A chill runs down Stiles' spine at that.

The dark moment passed, Dr. Naveen rises. “The good news is, you can train your cardiac system to match the strength of the rest of your body with time. Since your normal physician would regard these changes as utterly impossible, I am now your primary caregiver. You're to be transferred here in the event of an emergency unless you absolutely will not survive, in which case I will be brought to you. Here's some pamphlets I give to new werewolves on adapting to enhanced senses, since you still have much sharper than human ones.” She hands him a shiny pamphlet with a shifted werewolf covering his ears in pain labeled _'Controlling Your Senses: A How-to Guide’_.

Stiles leaves the office, and wanders to the waiting room, where his father sits, reading reports from the station.

“Well?” The sheriff stands, anxiety tinging his voice. Stiles, in response, hands him all the relevant papers from Dr. Naveen. “ _Superhuman abilities and senses, enhanced healing, highly sensitive immune system, but entirely human cardiovascular system. Do not overexert.._.” He reads from the chart.

“I just gotta be careful, that's all she said. Otherwise, I'm perfectly healthy.”

“Huh. So, you can hear my heartbeat?”

Stiles sighs. “Yes, Dad.”

John shakes his head. “Freaky.” With that, he leads Stiles through the barrier concealing the Supernatural Ward from the rest of the hospital. From there, it’s a mostly silent ride to Moonlight Falls, stopping once on the interstate for a quick bite from McDonald’s. Once they’re home, the Sheriff grouses about pulling yet another night shift, and makes his way to work.

Within seconds of John’s cruiser pulling around the corner, a single figure jumps atop the veranda. Derek slips easily through Stiles’ unlocked window.

“I could hear you out there, you know.” Stiles murmurs sleepily from his bed.

Derek smirks. “I’m well aware.” He speaks as he slides easily into the bed, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. “You can hear as much as me, now.”

Stiles rolls to face him. “Do I smell the same? I know I smelled different after I got turned, but, what about now?” He asks, genuine concern painting his face.

“Yeah, actually. You smell just like you did before.”

The former vampire sighs with relief. “It’s a good thing I can hear when you lie, now.”

Derek simply pulls him closer.

**+**

The Fourth of July comes to Moonlight Falls the same way it comes to almost the entire country: with a record breaking heatwave. By ten in the morning, the thermometers are reading a hundred degrees and climbing. They won't waver below the triple digits for almost a week.

Stiles sits in the Hale house, blessedly air conditioned, and taps away idly at his phone. Laura is sitting Indian style on an ottoman not far, reading a different Harry Potter book, and Derek is out with Cora, the two occasionally taking time to spend sibling time together. Stiles is just reaching the good part of a riveting _Star Wars_ fan fiction when Ritsa, of all people, walks into the room.

She has a graceful way about her, less fluid than the Argents, but undeniably more so than any human. Ritsa is Talia's younger sister, and third in line down the chain of command, after Evan and ahead of Laura. She wears her black hair short, to where it's barely scraping against her jawline, and is dressed in a cami and yoga pants, and seems to be carrying a set of similar attire.

“Here, go change.” Ritsa says, tossing a white tee shirt and cargo pants to Stiles. “Laura, come assist. Once you've changed, come downstairs to the basement, the door on the left.” With that, the two women leave the room.

Changed into the athletic clothes, Stiles heads down the steps into the fully furnished basement, home of the weekly Hale pack movie night, and goes left towards a door he's never entered before. Inside, he's pretty shocked.

It's a gym. A fully stocked gym, with all the professional machines and padded everything and a wall of mirrors. Ritsa stands in the middle of a circle used to define wrestling boundaries, wearing a positively _filthy_ smirk.

“Since you can take a beating now, it's time you trained to fight. However, I will go a bit lighter on you, what with your heart and all. Let's start with a warm up. 100 laps, you have two minutes.”

Stiles runs the laps in a minute thirty, and isn’t even sweating by the end. Ritsa then instructs him to work with Laura on agility exercises. For close to an hour, the two of them do a bizarre sort of dance, taking turns going after and avoiding each other, after which Stiles begins to feel the exertion. Thankfully, so does Laura.

“Alright, break time. Go cool down. Stiles, when we get back, you and I are sparring.” Ritsa says, the damn smirk back on her face.

They rest and relax, mindful of Stiles' heart, and make sure everyone is still feeling good a few minutes later when they resume. Stiles and Ritsa take positions opposite each other on the wrestling mat. She smiles, flashes her beta eyes, and charges Stiles like a truck. Despite the fact that every conscious part of him is screaming to get the Hell out of her way, his instincts have other ideas.

He charges back, emitting a surprisingly ferocious snarl as he does, and meets Ritsa half way. The force is enough to bring them to a deadlock, each gripping the other by the upper arms, they stay, growling like animals at the others for a few moments, before Ritsa tries to flip Stiles. As he flies over her, he twirls mid air, breaking her grip and latching onto her like she's giving a him a piggy back ride. Stiles uses his new position to kick her knees back, forcing Ritsa's legs to straighten, and sending her to the floor.

He has her pinned for a brief moment, but the position is less than stellar, and so, she flips it, straddling Stiles' stomach and pinning his arms on either side of him. Without many options and refusing to go down, Stiles raises his head, and sends it directly into Ritsa's diaphragm, winding the older woman. From there, as she struggles to catch her breath, he flips, twirling his legs around hers, and Stiles forces Ritsa to the floor, sending her arms to her sides and pinning her legs between his own. Stiles has her quite thoroughly pinned.

“Goddamn, I haven't had a fighter like that in a long time…” Ritsa wheezes, still coughing.

Laura is helplessly giggling. “I haven't seen anyone but my parents hand it to Aunt Ritsa like that! We gotta get you to spar with Mom!”

Immediately, Stiles is up, and reminds Laura what a bad idea that it would be. “She could break me and we have no clue what my healing factor would be!”

“Stilinski, you just stopped a well-trained adult werewolf in her tracks, your healing factor has to be on par. If it weren't, you would've snapped your wrists the second you hit her.”

“Still not doing it until we really figure this out.”

Laura sulks for a moment, but complains no further. There's a sound of shuffling from above, a knock on the door, and they're scrambling up the steps. Ritsa throws open the door, smiling graciously at a woman who looks like the female version of Stiles, right to the smattering of freckles across her high cheekbones and upturned, impish nose.

From behind her, she can hear Stiles’ heart stutter with shock, before turning to overdrive. “Mom?!” He demands, shocked joy in his voice. “What are you doing here?!”

Mother and child gather each other into their arms, and Claudia Stilinski pulls away to appraise her child. “I decided to come surprise you with a visit, and look at you! I told you you'd fill out! So handsome!”

“I guess you were right.” Stiles murmurs, a touch of the joy from his voice gone as he remembers the circumstances of the ‘growth spurt’. “Oh, uh, Mom, this is Ritsa Hale, and Laura, she's Derek’s sister.”

“Claudia, good to see you again.” Ritsa says, somewhat curtly.

“Ritsa, you look lovely.” She returns, equally curt.

Even without hearing the skipping heartbeat of obvious lies, Stiles can tell there is a tense relationship. He hadn't even known his mother knew Ritsa.

“Well, I guess I gotta go. Tell Derek my mom dropped by, will you Laura?” Stiles asks, hugging her and Ritsa in rapid succession.

“Of course. Good to meet you, Mrs. Stilinski.” Laura says, shaking her hand.

“You as well, Laura. Ritsa.” Claudia says, before possessively wrapping her arm around her firstborn.

Once they're safely outside of the hearing range of the Hale house, Stiles turns to his mother. “Care to explain why you and Ritsa turned into the biggest bitches this side of the Olympias?” He flatly demands.

“She and I have history.” Claudia bites out.

“Elaborate.”

“She dated your father when we were all in high school, and he left her for me. She was bitter, that's all to it.”

Stiles hears the lie in his mother’s heartbeat, but opts to ignore it, rather, he simply rejoices at spending time with her.

“How's it feel to be back after 14 years?” He asks.

Claudia sighs wistfully. “Better than expected. I didn't think I'd miss this place, but I feel more at home than expected. I’m staying with my friend Marin while I’m in town, so expect to see her a lot.”

“So, how’s New York?”

Claudia launches into a revelry of stories of her glamorous adventures amidst the art world of Manhattan, ones hilarious and serious, and it's wonderful. Stiles _adores_ having his harebrained mother back to regale him with crazy stories. She even gets into a few adventures that she and the Sheriff had had in their younger years, much to his surprise. Stiles had never expected that he'd get to hear any stories of his parent’s marriage, but he's glad to.

Eventually, the two pull up to the two story home that John and Stiles reside in. Easily, they walk back up the flagstone path to the front door and enter. The Sheriff, sitting at the front table, looks up, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Claudia.” He says.

The brown haired woman smiles. “Hello, John.”

“You didn't tell me you were coming.” John stands, pulling his ex-wife into a hug.

Claudia easily returns to the embrace. “I'm on vacation for a month or so, and I know Stiles wouldn't want to leave here with his friends and boyfriend here, so I figured I'd come home, see everyone. You look good, John. Stiles’ harping must've really paid off!”

The Sheriff groans. “He told you about that, huh?”

“Of course he did.” She grins with pride. “He tells me everything.”

John coughs something that suspiciously sounds like ‘Not everything.’, and Stiles resists the urge to elbow him in the side, if only because it would probably break some ribs.

“How lovely. Anyway, would you like to stay for dinner, Claudia? I'm making chicken cacciatore.”

Stiles gives his father a withering glare. “You mean your _lovely son_ is making chicken cacciatore because you make it with enough salt to rival my bitterness.”

John only shakes his head and laughs. “There's gonna be fireworks over the bay later tonight, I assume you're going with the Hales to wherever they watch?”

“Yep, we're gonna be along the cliffs. They go every year, and Derek was good enough to invite me.” Stiles grins. “I guess they get the best view up there.”

A pinched look crosses Claudia’s face for a brief moment, so quickly a normal human would likely not have caught it, but Stiles does, as well as the uptick in his mother’s heart. With the look come and gone, Claudia sets her face in the default ‘concerned-but-supportive mother’ expression.

“Well, just be careful, alright?” She says with an almost robotic voice.

Stiles nods. “I will, Ma”.

**+**

Stiles pulls Roscoe into the Hale driveway just as the sun sets, a habit he's gotten used to. He no longer brings an overnight bag, as he's gotten accustomed to keeping a couple of outfits in a drawer in Derek’s dresser. Forgoing knocking, Stiles just walks in, and a can of Pepsi is flying at his head the instant he's cleared the doorway.

Catching the carbonated projectile, Stiles follows the trajectory to where Kita leans against the doorway into the kitchen, another open can in her palm.

“Thanks, you brat.” Stiles says, opening the (surprisingly) unshaken can and taking a sip.

She laughs, a vision of her mother in that moment. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Stilinski.”

Evan walks in, Derek twenty five years in the future, and snatches the second can from his niece’s hand, setting it on a shelf out of her reach.

“No throwing soda at humans.” He says, flashing his eyes in a warning.

Kita pouts. “Aw, come on! He's not even properly human!” Stiles flips her off at that particular remark.

Again, Evan flashes his beta eyes. “No flipping off the children.” He says to Stiles.

Stiles throws himself into a comfortable chair in the living room. “Where's the grumpy one?” He asks, settling in.

“Right here.” Derek's voice comes from the stairs leading down to the basement.

He's in a tank top and sweatpants, his bangs stuck to his forehead with perspiration, skin glinting with sweat.

“That you are…” Stiles mutters.

“Gross, Stiles.” Cora voices her disgust as she strides into the room. “You kinky motherfucker.”

“A boy wants what a boy wants.” He shrugs.

Derek raises his eyebrows. “I'm right here, you know.”

Stiles walks over, taking Derek’s lips in a languid kiss, before smacking his ass. “Go shower and get dressed. You're all excited to take me to see the fireworks, so you better look nice.”

“And you're so formally dressed yourself.” Derek says, gesturing to the black tee with an archery target and tight grey jeans.

“Hey, Peter?” Stiles calls, knowing the man will hear him. “Can I borrow a dress shirt?”

Moments later, Peter is bounding down the stairs with a shit-eating grin and a dark teal button down. “I have been waiting for the opportunity to get you in something besides a three dollar tee shirt.” He enthuses.

“Hey, I like my tee shirts, thank you!” Stiles replies, faux-offended.

“Yes, well, perhaps we can even negotiate you wearing a proper cardigan.” Peter murmurs, sizing up the shirt with Stiles’ complexion. Satisfied, he hands the article to the boy.

“Now, don't mess it up, I like this shirt.” With that, he leaves back upstairs.

Once the shirt is on, Derek acts a bit on edge. Sensing the issue, Stiles sighs. “Get it over with, you big lug.”

Derek is on him instantly, erasing Peter’s scent from the shirt and replacing it with his own. Satisfied his mate smells like him, Derek heads for a bathroom to shower.

While Derek bathes, Stiles wanders to the kitchen, where Talia is preparing series of backpacks, each one fitted with different supplies.

“Here, hold this.” She casually orders, handing an open bag to him. Talia places a rolled up blanket and some bottles of soda into the sack. “You're going to carry this one, it’s for you and Derek.”

“I'm a guest!” He objects.

Talia snorts. “Tell that to the dresser in my son’s room that's half-filled with your clothes.”

He groans and concedes defeat.

“Uh-huh. That's the last of them. Everyone, time to go!” She calls the last part out to the general house.

Everyone piles into the kitchen, paired off and each group assigned a pack with a blanket, drinks, and snacks. Once everyone is settled to go, Talia notes the distant pink of the western horizon. It's time to go. Instantly, they're bolting off into the woods.

Before his transformation, Stiles would've required Derek to support him along, slowing him down as he carried Stiles. But now? Stiles can keep pace. He can run just as quickly as Derek or any of the other Hales.

Stiles lives for this. Jumping over creeks twenty five feet across, doing acrobatics over pine boughs, sprinting so quickly the wind is all he hears. When he can smell the spray of the ocean and hear the excited chatter of people out on the bay, he slows, skidding to a stop on the rock outcropping. The last traces of sunlight are fading away, a final patch of violet on the western sky that is rapidly transitioning to midnight blue.

Everyone follows in after, and both Talia and Derek have looks of reprimand on their faces.

“Genim Daniel Stilinski, what the _Hell_ were you thinking?!” The alpha promptly demands. “You know you aren't supposed to run at full speed! You could kill yourself!”

“I'm really beginning to regret telling you my full name…” Stiles mutters.

Derek shakes his head. “She's right, Stiles. There's no promise that the Bite will work on you if you go into cardiac arrest.”

“Fine. I'll be more careful.”

Evan chips in. “Please, do. We don't want anything happening to you.”

He's genuinely touched by that, and tries to say so, but Laura is too busy tackling him from behind, sending him sprawling across the ground.

“Yeah, I’d have no one to tackle!” She laughs and Stiles boots her off, sending her flying. Ritsa catches her airborne niece and sets her gently on the ground.

Everyone rapidly sets up, and waits for the fireworks to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we learn about the politics of the supernatural and meet the eldritch abomination.


	2. Dark of the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here he is, the biggest dick in the universe!

Chris Argent is at the door that night, pounding on the door at a time when everyone is asleep. Ritsa is the first one to reach, her hair mussed with sleep. 

“We need to go to Deaton’s.” Chris is frantic. 

“What's happening?” Ritsa asks. 

The immortal runs a hand through his hair. “They're here!”

“Who's here?” Talia asks as she descends down the stairs, trailed by everyone. 

“You all need to get dressed, and drive to Deaton’s. The Eldritch Council is here.”

Talia pales. “The whole Council?” She whispers. “They haven't left all New York since the Pack Wars.” 

Stiles’ history lessons with Deaton and Lydia come back to him. The Eldritch Council, the leading collective of five supernatural beings who lead the greater Congress of the Night, are the dispensers of justice, investigators, and the collective representatives of the supernatural world. Typically, only a single member of the Council is sent to investigate before returning their findings to the rest.

The last time the entire Council left New York City to deal with an issue was during the years long werewolf civil war, better known as the Pack Wars. The highly stratified werewolf order has existed for centuries, with regional packs being responsible for maintaining order in their respective territories. During the Pack Wars, Vassal Packs, lower ranking packs that maintained cities or counties, rose against the Principle Packs. The war was won by the Principle Packs, namely because they were larger, more established, and better aware of the strengths and weaknesses of their kind. Almost forty years have passed since the Wars were ended when the Vassals were routed from their stronghold in a suburb of Kansas City, Kansas. Since then, the Eldritch Council has played a significantly diminished role in supernatural politics as a result of a long-lasting peace. 

The radio clock in Derek’s Camaro reads 3:14 AM when they pull into the Moonlight Falls Veterinarian Office, and Stiles is still half asleep when he walks into the room, though he quickly wakes fully when he catches sight of the affair ahead of him. 

Everyone, absolutely _ everyone _ , is there. Camden and Isaac, looking just as sleep heavy as he is. Scott and Melissa, their wings unfurled and ears drawn to points, the Argents, Deaton and Lydia, even his father and Dr. Naveen. There are five others Stiles doesn't recognize, as well.

The first is plainly a vampire. She's in her thirties, a voluptuous, elegant woman with burgundy hair pulled into a bun, and wearing a black suit jacket with matching pencil skirt. To her immediate right is another woman, this one much shorter, and much older. She has all the appearances of the type of grandma who spends her days doting on grandchildren, but her green eyes are sharp and cutting, and her brow is set heavy and introspective. 

Opposite the vampire is a Faerie, though not as Stiles has ever seen one. His eyes are wide, and glow violet. Though age is sometimes difficult to determine with Fae, the man seems quite young, maybe twenty two, but his curled locks are snow white. He's shirtless, and his pants are made of some naturally occurring fiber or other, no man made polymers or cloth. Several plants on a shelf nearby reach longingly towards him, almost begging to be touched. To his left, a woman in a maroon 1940’s style blouse stands, her iron grey hair streaked with silver. She just  _ looks  _ mischievous, and Stiles already likes her for it. 

Finally, to the right of the older woman, very plainly dressed in a white button down and khakis, is a man in his thirties with sandy blonde hair and a set of glasses perched on a Greek nose. He's very unassuming, but has a presence about him. 

“So, this is the boy, then?” The old woman asks Deaton. 

“Uh, yes, Alpha Collins.”

She marches over, asking Stiles to bend down so she can get a better look at him. Now that he’s aware the woman is a werewolf, he’s unsurprised when Alpha Collins sniffs him, just once. 

“Any changes in diet, mood, behavior?” She asks him. 

“Uh… not really ma'am. I mean, I was a little off-kilter while I was getting used to the senses, but I feel like myself.” 

“And you can all attest to that?” The plain man asks as he writes in a notebook.

There's a general chorus of agreement for a moment, and Collins backs down. 

The vampire steps forward and speaks with just the lightest Eastern European accent. “Apologies, Mr. Stilinski. Introductions are in order. I'm Justine Tepes, the werewolf who just invaded your personal space is Alpha Rosalie Collins. To my left here is Robin Goodfellow, better known as Puck, and the witchy woman smirking at you is Theresa Nurse. Finally, our human colleague there is James Korriban, the government’s Ambassador to our little Council.”

“I'm, uh… Stiles Stilinski.”

“Sarah, dear, will you come here?” Nurse asks. 

“What do you need, ma'am?” 

“You said you've been monitoring Genim’s health this past month. Have you been doing tests at the cellular level?” The witch asks as she browses through Stiles’ file. 

Naveen nods. “Yes, I have.” 

“And since he's been cured of immortality, has he been aging?” Korriban queries as he peers over his colleague’s shoulder. 

“Yes, sir. His rate of telomeric division has significantly reduced, though. His aging has been slowed by at least half, maybe more.” 

“Interesting.” 

As the Councilors discuss amongst themselves, it hits Stiles who he's dealing with. The Faerie? That's  _ the  _ Robin Goodfellow. From Shakespeare’s  _ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _ . Shakespeare had been a cover for the Faeries, a way to mythologize them, to give them an even greater blanket of secrecy. Justine Tepes, some centuries ago, was called Jusztina, and she was none other than the wife of the late, great Vlad Tepes Dracul, the lord of the undead himself. Dracula. 

Theresa Nurse is a descendant of the only actual witch to be executed at Salem, Rebecca Nurse, who had stayed behind when her coven fled to try and end the chaos of the trials. Lastly, and perhaps most terrifyingly, Alpha Rosalie Collins, whilst having one of the largest packs in the lycanthropic world, is also Evan’s mother. That's Derek’s  _ grandmother.  _ Stiles is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to faint, or vomit. Maybe both.

“Genim?” A set of fingers is snapping directly in front of his face, bringing him around. “He seems a bit out of it.” Puck comments.

“I'm okay.” The former immortal forces out. 

“Well, now that you're done daydreaming, we've made a decision. Rose, if you will?” He gives a knowing smirk to the old werewolf. 

“Upon the Council’s return to New York, a new group of supernatural beings, known as the Genimae, will be added to the  _ Necronomicon Omni Mystica _ , the collection of all magical knowledge. You will also be entitled to a position as a representative to the Congress of the Night.” 

Stiles gapes. “I- I don't know what to say.” 

“You'll have plenty of time to think of something, we’re not done here yet.” Puck says, turning to none other than Melissa. “Your father wants us to check on the Nemeton, he's concerned about the containment.” 

“Containment of what, exactly?” John asks. 

“He's the Sheriff, he should probably know.” Ritsa intones. 

Deaton turns and sighs. “Fine, you and Stiles can come with us.” He turns, grabs his jacket, and is already heading out the front door.

“Is he always that mystic?” John asks. 

“Yep.” Several people chorus. 

Instantly, Puck is shifting to a less noticeable form. A blue shawl-neck sweater forms around his chest, his pants become a pair of slacks, and a pair of shoes appears on his feet. The only hint at any inhuman nature are his still snowy curls and violet irises.

“Just follow us.” Justina says, heading for the door. 

Talia, Deaton, Lydia, the McCalls, and the Stilinskis, led by the Council, drive along a winding mountain road that leads towards the falls for some time, before they finally park at the side of the road near a trail. 

“It's a ways into the forest, you'll see soon enough.” Lydia remarks when Stiles asks what exactly the Nemeton is anyway.

Finally,  _ finally,  _ with a waxing gibbous moon overhead, they pause at the base of a towering oak tree, easily taller than any other tree in the forest. Its base is nearly fifteen feet across, and the Hale family crest, a triskele, is carved into the wood. Deaton marches up to the marking, mutters a few words in Greek, and the earth is opening to reveal a set of ancient looking stone stairs.

“So the Nemeton is a tree?” John asks. 

Puck nods. “It’s an  _ axis mundi _ , a place where the magical energy of the world collects. They’re scattered across the world, holy sites to the supernatural.” 

The stone stairs lead to a humble door, which opens to reveal a stark and modern room. Everything is white, and fluorescent lights throw the room into almost violent relief. The only color comes from the thousands of volumes of books on shelves embedded in the wall. Some seem ancient, others relatively recent. All are hidden behind glass doors, each locked. There are several desks, each with a computer on it, as well as a few couches and chairs arranged to face each other.

“These are the  _ Necronomica Damnatio,  _ the ultimate collection of forbidden knowledge, outside of the one in New York.” Deaton says. “Black magic so terrible that all but the most powerful witches would be driven mad just attempting it.” 

“Jesus.” Stiles says. 

“Please stay with the tour.” Lydia jokes, walking beside her mentor towards a staircase at the far end of the massive room.

They walk down, leading to a positively ancient wooden door, again marked with a triple spiral, as well as lines of text in dozens of languages. It takes Deaton, Lydia, and Theresa Nurse all speaking softly in Greek to get this one to open, revealing an earthen chamber that’s illuminated by a soft golden light. The antechamber smells of earth and decay, an unnerving but natural scent. Inside, roots hang from the ceiling, and trace their way down the walls and over the floor. Directly across from the old door leading in, the source of light is revealed.

Between two of the largest roots is a perfectly flat wall of solidified tree sap, glowing gold. What makes the Stilinskis gasp, however, is what’s  _ inside  _ the amber. A roughly humanoid figure is there, hunched over, but still massive. Some black mass, like frozen smoke, conceals its middle. Two wings sprout from its back, and tree roots hold its arms out while another huge tendril of growth is wrapped around its waist. It’s the face, however, that chills Stiles’ blood.

Half skeletal, half rotted flesh, with soulless eyes that seem aware, almost following him around the room. He voices this concern as he paces, examining the creature from another angle. 

“That’s because he  _ is  _ watching us.” Puck says, glaring angrily at the prisoner. “He’s well aware of what’s happening, who we are, where he is. He’s been conscious all these centuries.”

“He’s been here for centuries?!” John gapes. 

The faerie nods. “Just like humanity, we had our wars, too. Petty squabbles, but also battles for the fate of the world. Hundreds of thousands died to lock him away.”

“What is he?” Stiles asks, 

“The last Slua on Earth. A dark faerie, a creature of rot and decay. We fought for nearly a millennia to kill or imprison as many as we could. Finally, there was him. The Lich. He nearly killed me.”

“I’m sorry, this thing is called the Lich? As in the Adventure Time creature, also locked up in amber?” Stiles is resisting the urge to laugh. 

“Even today, we have people to do ensure as much of the supernatural as possible is made into myth and fiction. Even him.” Rosalie says. “He’s been here for almost two thousand years, waiting.”

“For what, we can’t say. All the witches who’ve probed his mind have only gotten a sense of anticipation.” Theresa says.

“Comforting.” John muttered. 

Theresa shakes her head. “Anyway, we’re here to reinforce the barriers that keep him from getting at whatever it is he’s waiting for.”

John paces the room, running a hand over his head. “I’m sorry to question your methods, but why not just destroy him, or put him wherever it is you put the others?” 

Ambassador Korriban, silent for the majority of the time, finally speaks. “It took dozens just to imprison him here, destroying him would take hundreds of witches and faeries, and would involve freeing him. Even if we assembled the necessary forces, there’s no promise we could contain him. The Lich could easily overpower us and escape, doing who knows what to the world.” 

“Fair enough.” The Sheriff nods. 

“We’re just here to reinforce the magic keeping him trapped. See the black mass coming off of him? That's the Lich trying to escape, his own putridness rotting the amber.” Puck says, settling a position directly parallel to the Lich.

The three witches in the room set themselves in positions to create a half circle around the amber prison. A white root springs out from Puck’s beneath feet, and wraps itself around everyone’s ankles, which he explains is a means of protection. When reinforcing the magic, there’s a brief moment when it will weaken, enough so that any unprotected person could be possessed or worse.

Puck begins muttering something in the ancient tongue of the Fae, while the witches speak the same old Greek over and over. The frozen smoke around the Lich begins to writhe and seethe, and the amber prison begins to crack and shatter. A tendril of the mass escapes, and probes the air questioningly. It seems frustrated and ready to retreat, but it stills for a moment. 

The phantom limb shoots towards Lydia and instantly latches on, wrapping itself around her wrist. She screams in terror, and her form instantly changes, morphing. Her strawberry hair begins to turn grey and becomes brittle, and her pale skin turns bone white and waxy. She becomes emaciated, eyes sunken deep into her skull. Deaton breaks from the spells, screaming something in a language clearly not Greek, and casting a sphere of white light to where Lydia is paralyzed. The rotted mass retreats back into the amber, and fades away as Puck and Councilor Nurse finish the incantation. 

The form of the Lich is revealed, free of the rotting fog, and it’s horrifying. His ribcage is clearly visible through a paper thin layer of dark grey flesh, which cuts off and hangs like old curtains, revealing he lacks any internal organs, and showing his spine. The flesh again picks up just below his hips, which are covered by a tattered and ancient loincloth that barely gives the Lich some modesty. One of the legs is almost entirely skeleton, the bones cracked and yellowed, and the other is bloated and dark. There’s a change in the creature’s face, however. One rotted ear is half reformed, and his eyes, sunken and black, have regenerated to become milky white, totally glazed over.

Deaton works frantically on his proteg é, and Puck is carrying Lydia out of the room. Melissa and Scott speaking the Fae language to the haggard girl softly, praying to ancient gods and muttering the best healing incantations they know. Outside of the Nemeton, Puck sets Lydia on a bed of moss, and causes it to grow over her. 

No one dares even speak, spare Deaton, who is frantically murmuring the language that's neither Fae nor Greek, almost under his breath. Puck just keeps his hands on the moss, eyes glowing as he pours all the energy he has into healing her. 

After almost thirty seconds, a hand bursts up from the mound, and frantically tears at the moss until Lydia is crawling free, covered in dirt and clearly terrified, but otherwise unharmed. The Lich had aged her decades in seconds, but the damage was undone, thankfully. 

“What in the everloving  _ fuck  _ was that?!” John demands, flabbergasted. “You said that would protect us!” He turns an accusatory finger towards Puck. 

“I didn't see that she's wearing stockings. The root needs to touch skin to provide full protection. Be grateful this is all that happened. If she were unprotected, he would've taken her over and been free before we could even react. The thing’s contained, and we’ll get her back to the office, Deaton can make something to calm her down. Just help her up, will you, Sheriff?” 

John does as he's asked, getting a shaking Lydia onto her unsteady feet. He eases her into Deaton’s car, and everyone packs back into their respective cars, driving back down the road towards Deaton’s clinic.

It's almost five in the morning when they pull back in. Lydia is still mute, but she's at least stopped shaking. Derek doesn’t have the patience to wait, and is out the door and immediately at Stiles’ side. 

“You saw it, then?” He asks. 

Talia gravely interrupts. “He saw it in action. It almost got Lydia, the poor thing.” 

“I'll prepare a trauma suppressant draught.” Theresa says as Deaton leads the girl in.

Afterwards, with the memories of the affair dimmed and suppressed, Lydia speaks, still cautious, but herself. She changes into a spare set of clothes she keeps in the office and asks to go home.

With the sun cresting the east horizon, everyone departs back. Stiles opts to sleep at his own home for once, and settles in comfortably. It's been so long that his scent is nearly gone from the crisp blue sheets, and it takes him time to get the room smelling like himself. Contended, he goes to sleep.

**+**

_ Mine. _

Not yours. You stay there. 

_ I will have you, and your friends.  _

_ I nearly took you once, I'll do it again. You know I can.  _

I can't remember what you showed me, I know nothing. 

_ Let me remind you. _

**+**

Lydia awakes with a shriek. The Lich had reminded her, alright. 

She'd seen the way things were before the Lich arrived. There had been great, prosperous civilizations, and he had taken them apart, fed on their people, sustained himself on the lifeforce of the land. He wasn't just a Slua, he was  _ the  _ Slua. 

The Lich had been a king in his own right. His army of dark followers had contentedly drained continents of life, allowed them to regrow, used people as livestock. The Slua were vampires in the truest sense of the word. They couldn't heal, no magic could stop them from rotting. They  _ had  _ to feed, or they risked rotting to nothing. The Lich survived so long only because of his imprisonment. He is the last of his kind on Earth, the rest either long dead, or imprisoned in the  _ Duchaís. _

He wants nothing more than release. Even in the amber, the Lich is starving. Slowly, very slowly, but he is starving. He’s nearly faded, and he’ll do anything at all to escape the Hell he's spent the last two thousand years in.

Something, some dark, jealous little part of her, keeps this information from Deaton. She's not sure why.

**+**

Almost all of the Eldritch Council returns to New York the following day, spare Rosalie Collins. Derek's grandmother has earned her time off, and she intends to visit with her family. The Hale house has plenty of guest bedrooms, and she chooses to occupy one. 

The next morning, she's in the kitchen before anyone else, nursing a cup of coffee. She feels some unease about what happened the night before, but sets it to the back of her mind as she hears light footsteps coming down the stairs. Laura rounds the corner into the room, nearly falling onto the parquet marble floor in surprise. 

“Gram? What are you  _ doing  _ here?!” She asks, thrilled, as she swamps her grandmother in a hug.

Rosalie chuckles good-naturedly. “There was business in town, so I'm sticking for a few days, figure I'll spend the moon with you lot.” 

“Awesome! How's Gramp?” Laura inquires. 

“Same old, same old. Says it's too cold for him in the winters, but won't leave the Adirondacks for anything.”

“It's July, Gram.” 

“He talks about the cold all year.” 

“Ah.” 

**+**

Lydia still hasn’t told Deaton about the nightmares when she makes a split second decision. 

It's perfectly clear that the Lich is trying to manipulate her, that he's threaded his conscious through her own. So, she reasons, what better to do that confront him herself? At the very least, she knows there's book on telepathic links in the Nemeton library, maybe she can find a way to sever it there.

She yells to her mother that she is leaving, and Lydia heads for her car. The drive to the Nemeton feels like an eternity, but it's at most twenty minutes. She utters the necessary incantation to open the tree, and steps into the  _ Necronomica Damnatio _ . She and Deaton had spent the previous summer organizing the contents, so she strides to the far end of the room where the books on mind control and telepathy are kept, opening the locked cabinet and simply scanning, the Greek and Latin texts revealing interesting but useless information.

Lydia pointedly ignores the nascent scratching feeling in the back of her head, the sounds that might be whispers, or maybe just the foundation of the room settling. The not-whispers grow louder and louder until gibberish is being screamed in her ears. Finally, slamming the ancient tome shut, Lydia storms to wooden door and, with more magical effort than she's extended in years, single-handedly opens it. 

“What,” She seethes at the Lich, frozen in amber, “Do you  _ want?!”  _

‘ _ Release.’  _ It rasps.

“Fuck you.”

‘ _ I haven't had the chance in centuries.’  _

She rolls her eyes in disgust. “Don't be vulgar.” 

‘ _ I am the incarnation of rot. My literal existence is a vulgarity.’  _

“That doesn't mean you need to act like it.

The Lich gives a rasping noise Lydia suspects is a laugh. ‘ _ You are a simple delight. I look forward to working with you.’  _

“It's not gonna happen.” 

‘ _ I am thousands of years old. Witches and Faeries a hundred times your power tried to refuse me, but couldn't. How do you think you stand a chance?’  _ It challenges. 

Lydia rolls her shoulders back, squaring herself up, and glares defiantly at the figure in the amber. 

“I’ll break this bond.” 

‘ _ By all means, do. But miss a chance to learn all the secrets of magic. The Divine Tongue you have so longed to learn, that your teacher refuses to make known. Magic so ancient it was never written, that only survives with me. The secret to life everlasting, bending the very fabric of this reality to your whim. So much power, and it would die with me.’  _

Lydia’s resolve takes a massive blow. She logically knows the Lich is dangerous, but at the same time, so much power, such knowledge. She could help so many people, if she really wanted to. 

She strides back into the library, grabs a desk and chair, as well as an empty book, and settles in front of the prison.

“Talk.” Lydia orders. 

If it weren't for the fact he can't move, she would swear the Lich smiled at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, we see how the Argents are doing and spend some quality time with Claudia, where we learn more about her and Ritsa.


	3. Occultation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been done forever, I just know got to publishing it. The flow said otherwise, so we'll see the Argents next chapter.

It’s the last week of July, glorious sunny weather fills the town. Stiles and Derek lie on the beach, soaking up the last of the sunlight like plants. The tinny sound of an old radio cranking out indie hits rolls from nearby. It’s not quite sunset, less than an hour before at best, and the beach is nearly empty. Couples sit at picnic tables back from the water, and the delighted screams of a little boy and his mother echo from the other end of the beach, but the two are nearly alone. 

Stiles cocks his ear as a familiar voice comes from the parking lot. Aidan. There’s a second voice, too. He considers for a moment, before it really registers. Danny, the boy from the other side of the state Aidan’s been dating. He forces himself out of his comfortable position and stands up, wiping the sand off his chest. Stiles trots over, greeting the two immortals, shaking Danny’s hand and hugging Aidan. 

“Derek!” He calls, “Come here. The boys are thinking about playing chicken, and we need four people!”

Dutifully, though less than joyfully, Derek comes, placing Stiles on his shoulders. They limit themselves, being in public, but they still have a fair bit of fun. Finally, as the sun is a half-sphere shining over the water, everyone departs in their respective vehicles. Stiles is scheduled to crash with Scott tonight, so he takes off, swerving rapidly through the forested road that leads to the McCall cottage. It's a dusky purple twilight as he exits the Jeep, an overnight bag swung over his shoulder. 

In the last fading light of day, everything is lit up violet. The enhanced vision that immortality left Stiles with shows him every detail that normally is hidden by the shroud of darkness. The countless flowers and plants are mauve in the twilight, with honeydew gold light pouring from the large window into the living room, and he can hear Melissa’s feather light steps as she treads through the kitchen, as well as Scott’s steady heartbeat jumping with each kill as he plays the remaster of Modern Warfare. 

Stiles goes in without knocking, popping by the kitchen to hug Melissa before he drifts upstairs to Scott’s room. He slips quietly, barely exchanging words with a hyperfocused Scott, who is deep in concentration over a campaign level. 

“ _ Fuck yeah!”  _ He cried victoriously, glowing with his sienna brown energy for a brief second. 

Stiles chuckles. “Easy, dude! I think my hair just grew an inch or two.” 

“Sorry man, eighth try on that level.” 

“It's fine.” He says, flopping on the bed. “So, how is Miss Allison?” 

Scott blushes for a moment, one pointed ear sticking out from his mop of raven hair. “She's good. They're making progress on the house, it's really light and open, ultramodern. Victoria says it's a good change of pace from the old mansion. And don't worry, there's still gonna be an indoor pool.” 

“Oh, yes, I was so worried about the pool!” Stiles cries. “What  _ ever  _ would we do without the damn pool?!”

Scott goes to respond, but a glowing light shines through the windows of his bedroom, bright enough to completely white the windows out.

“Mom?!” He yells, barrelling down the stairs, to where Melissa stands in the living, looking downright pissed. 

“They better not have…” She whispers to herself, throwing the door open. The two teens follow out, where the light is originating in the yard as a white hexagonal doorway in midair. 

When the glare from the portal clears, Stiles gapes in awe at the two beings standing before the group. 

They each stand nearly fifteen feet high, and their rainbow wings bring to mind images from the Hubble telescope of the Butterfly Nebula, huge explosions of color and light that shimmer outwards from their spines. The woman is beautiful in the most unearthly way. 

She stands pale and thin, her hair is the color of corn silk, and falls ruler straight to her hips. Her eyes are the same shade as the sky, and her lips are plump pink. The Grecian toga that adorns her seems to made from the clouds themselves, and, atop her head, a circlet of wood blossoms into white roses, forming a crown that conceals the points of her ears. In her hand is a bow, made of quartz, with some earthy fiber making the string. A quiver rests on her back, where diamond tipped arrows stick out. She stands as a goddess. 

The male, in contrast, is built of muscle. His black hair is shorn close, and the crown atop his head blooms to leaves. His eyes are a cool hunter green, and his brown skin is the color of fresh dug earth. He wears what seems to be battle armor made of some iridescent metal, and a sword of solid diamond with a wooden hilt occupies his left hand.

They both smile down at the knot of people, before they are again enraptured in rainbow energy, shrinking down to a much more approachable size. The man is still built, though he’s aged a fair bit, and his armor is replaced by a button down and slacks. The woman could pass for her late forties to early fifties, and she wears a flowing sundress, and she’s smiling brilliantly at Melissa, who seems to be on the verge of an aneurysm.

“ _ Sixteen years…”  _ She seethes. “And not a word! Now you just show up in a flash of light and think it’s all perfect?!  _ Unbelievable!”  _ With that, she storms to her car and tears out of the driveway, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. 

The woman tuts. “Always so dramatic. Now, Scott, aren’t you going to show your grandparents in?” 

“ _ Grandparents?!”  _ Scott gapes.

**+**

‘ _ Now, crush the belladonna berries, careful to not let any spill.’  _ The Lich instructs Lydia, who’s begun the study of alchemy under his tutelage. 

“The book says to extract the juice with a knife.” She voices back.

‘ _ The more violent you are in extracting the juice, the more potent it is. Using a mortar and pestle is more violent than the clean cut of a knife.’  _

Lydia pours the belladonna juice into the beaker she has boiling over a bunsen burner. Immediately, the thick, greenish liquid turns gold, and becomes fluid. 

She can feel the Lich’s approval as he speaks. ‘ _ Good, now lower the flame, you can’t let the potion boil off. Lastly, take the succubus blood and add three milliliters. Yes, like that. Put the stopper on and let it sit until the next half moon. You’ve done well, most witches take years to properly develop a proper healing elixir. Only the second try for you.’  _

“You know, for a cursed being bent on the destruction of humanity, you’re surprisingly humble. You know I wouldn’t have done it without you.” 

‘ _ All I do is talk. It takes innate magical skill to make this work, I could not simply talk to anyone and have them come out as successfully. No, you have genuine power.’ _

Lydia shakes her head, grinning ruefully. “It’s late, I have to go home. Thank you for the instruction.”

‘ _ Until next time, my apprentice _ .’

Lydia ignores the uncomfortable feeling being referred to as ‘apprentice’ left her with, and strides from the Nemeton, out to where her car was parked at the roadside, and goes down the winding road back into town. She finds herself on Valley View Drive, parked outside of Isaac and Camden’s house, knocking on the door. 

Camden answers, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, Lydia, what are you doing here?” He asks. 

She shakes her head. “No clue, really. Just was driving by and thought I'd pop in, say hey.” 

“Well, come in. Isaac’s with Scott, I guess there was some kind of incident and Scott wants to decompress. Something to drink?” 

“Bottle of water, please. And what incident? More nonsense with Allison?” 

“Nah, something about grandparents.” 

Lydia sits on the couch, and Camden sits on the end opposite, some primetime show on the big screen playing low in the background. There's a wall of movies, a full, floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with hundreds of DVDs, and a second one next to it, stuffed full of books. The polyester couch is tan, and has a set of matching arm chairs. There's a desk with a computer, and the TV stand has only a cable box and a candle burning on it. It's homey, especially for a house that once was only inhabited by ghosts.

“There's plenty to eat in the pantry, if you want. Figure we can watch  _ Designated Survivor  _ or something else that's on.” He remarks. 

She shrugs. “That works. I'm gonna raid your snacks.” 

Moments later, Lydia came back, a glass of iced tea in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

Camden voices his approval at her choice of salt and vinegar. She settles much closer to Camden than she had before, drawing the blanket off of the back of the couch and pulling it over her legs.

The man sits, considering for a brief moment, and then hesitantly splays his arm over the back of the couch, relieved when Lydia leans back into the offered, and settles into his side, the bag of chips balanced on both their laps.

**+**

Camden wakes up first, Lydia still pressed firmly to him as a warm spot against his side. He shakes her shoulder, and she sits up, blinking off the night’s sleep.

“Morning.” He grins sleepily at her. 

She yawns. “Good morning. Hey, could I use your shower?” 

Camden nods. “Sure. Afterwards, if you want, we could head to a booth at Mae’s for breakfast?” 

“That sounds nice. Now, let me go, I have tragic morning breath.”

He chuckles. “Spare toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink.”

Camden totally doesn’t watch her hips sway as Lydia canters down the hall to the bathroom.

**+**

Stiles walks up to the address his mother said she was staying at, and sees the low, single-story ranch he'd driven by a hundred times by now. He can hear the distant rush of the Nehalem, but cannot see it through the dense forest behind the house. 

He walks up and knocks on the door, where a black woman with silky, shoulder length hair answers. She's in her mid-thirties at most, and has a friendly grin on her face. 

“Can I help you?” She asks, friendly and polite. 

“I'm, uh, Stiles Stilinski. My mother said she was staying with a friend here.”

The woman’s grin grows delighted. “So  _ you’re  _ Stiles! I'm Marin, I'm a friend of your mom’s! It's so nice to finally meet you. Claudia was right, you are a handsome man.” 

“Thanks.” He chuckles sheepishly.

“Well, your mom isn't here, she ran to the store quick, but if you want to wait, she'll be right back.” 

Stiles considers, and shrugs. “Why not?” 

Marin guides him into the homey living room, and he sits on the plush leather couch. 

“So you're aware,” She begins. “I'm aware.” 

Stiles tilts his head in confusion. “Aware of…?”

She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Alan Deaton is my older half-brother. I'm just as much a witchy woman as he is.”

“Oh! So you're in the know!” He nods. 

She waves her hand flippantly through the air, a stream of golden dust trailing behind and disappearing as quickly as it appears. 

“Is my mom aware?” He gingerly asks. 

Marin considers. “She suspects. She's certainly aware of something off, but I can't gauge if she's actually in the know. As I see it, it's not my place to let her know about what is or isn't real, there are others to consider. If you want to bring her in on the knowledge, you can always just clear it with everyone else. I'm certain Claudia can handle it.” 

“I'm sure she can, too.” 

Just then, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway fills the room. Marin runs a hand through her hair. “Speak of the devil.” 

“Hey, when'd you get here?” Claudia asks, clearly surprised to see her progeny. 

Stiles shrugs. “A couple of minutes. Marin told me you'd be back in a few.”

“Yeah, well, speaking of, Marin,” Claudia runs a hand through her hair. “The store didn't have the stuff for the stuffed peppers, said they'll have some tomorrow. I was gonna suggest we go out instead.” 

Marin turns to Stiles. “Care to join us?” 

Stiles gives the affirmative, and they all pile into their vehicles, driving to a cozy little Italian place near the Hale house. The neon sign flickers with age, but the smell of the food drifting from the restaurant is delicious, the scent of fresh ingredients carrying to his enhanced nostrils.

They all park, and get out, Claudia wrapping an arm around her son’s waist in a side hug. The waitress is a young girl that Stiles has seen in school, and she chatters politely as they all order. As Claudia and Marin talk, Stiles catches sight of a peculiar customer on the other end of the establishment, staring at the three of them.

The man is exceptionally pale, in his mid thirties, with stubble and a crop of honey blonde hair. His blue eyes are stunningly piercing, and the look on his face is predatory. Stiles’ enhanced vision can reveal no flaw in his skin, and he smells slightly of mint. As if all this wasn't clear enough, no matter how much he strains his ears, there's no heartbeat coming from the man. A vampire. 

Stiles feels an intense rush of territorialism. This is  _ their  _ land, not his. He lets a subvocal growl out, as softly as he can, and he is hardly surprised when he hears another in return. The man leaves a few minutes later, just as their food arrives. He stealth-texts Talia that an unfriendly vampire is in town, not bothering to read the response.

The meal is good, and the company even better. Marin is much more sociable than her mysterious brother, and she tells a damn good dirty joke. Stiles suddenly understands why his mother is friends with the woman. She's simply a  _ delight. _

They sit and chatter through their meals, dessert, and a cup of coffee for each of them. Stiles resolves to spend more time with the women, both together and apart. Just as they walk out of the restaurant, his phone starts buzzing.

The photo of Talia he'd snagged one night by a bonfire pops up, and he immediately answers.

“Hello?”

‘ _ Stiles, you need to be careful. That vampire is still out there. Peter and I went to deal with him, and he caught us off surprise. Peter’s hurt, badly. He was headed in the direction of river when he fled.’ _

His blood runs cold. “Please tell me you're joking.” 

‘ _ We've already let your dad know, he's safe.’  _

“Fuck! Okay, uh… keep track of it. I'm with my mom and Marin Morrell, we're headed back to her house.” 

‘ _ Will do. Stay safe, and call if you even think you see anything.’  _

“You too. Bye.”

Claudia turns to her son. “What was that about?” 

“Nothing, Ma. I'll tell you later.”

They get into their cars, and Stiles leads the way back, keeping a vigilant ear for anything moving in the forests surrounding the road back to Marin’s. There's nothing, thankfully, and Stiles waits for the two women to arrive before he steps out of Roscoe. As his senses adjust to the outside, he catches just the barest hint of a scent. 

Spearmint. 

More than anything, Stiles hears the rush of air as the vampire jumps from the trees above the house, and he's able to turn just into time, flattening his hand against the immortal’s stomach, redirecting him mid-flight. The man goes sprawling into the concrete, striking with such force that he leaves a considerable crater in the road before rolling into the ditch on the opposite side.

The vampire is back up in an instant, and Claudia and Marin are now reacting to the attacker. Stiles’ mother gasps, rushing towards him, and he gently pushes her back. Marin seems to get her wits about her as she raises a hand in defiance at the immortal as he begins to sprint towards them, a blur of motion charging across the road.

_ “Εκάτη, καίει το τέρας!”  _ She yells.

The vampire’s legs fail him, and he goes sprawling as he roars in futile rage, before, from the inside out, he is immolated, consumed by fire until there's only a pile of embers on the concrete.

Claudia, visibly shaken, reaches for Stiles. He runs a hand down her arm soothingly, and lets her tremble against his side. Wordlessly, Marin flicks her wrist, and the remains of the vampire are swept away by a sudden wind, and the crater in the road repairs itself.

Finally, Claudia finds her voice. “I guess… given that you were always around the Hales, you might be one of them. I was right.” 

“Wait, Mom,  _ you knew?!”  _

Claudia gives a small smile. “I dated Ritsa Hale for almost three years in high school before I left you for her father. She let me know about the supernatural.” 

Stiles sits on the pavement, head between his knees. “So, this whole time, you knew the Hales were werewolves and everything else, and you and Ritsa were a  _ thing  _ like twenty years ago?” 

“Basically. I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure if you knew. You've only been with Derek a couple of months, it was a year before I was let in on it. So, Talia gave you the bite, then?” 

“Not exactly…” Stiles trails.

“Remember hearing about the Argent Manor burning down?” He asks, and she nods her affirmation. “Well, long story short, vampires attacked, did that. One of them bit me, turned me. Deaton, being the weirdo he is, tried using this magical cure-all called Ambrosia on me, and it worked, but it left me more than human. I've got the best of both, but I also have a fragile heart for… well, theories abound.” 

“And you're now officially a new classification of supernatural creature.” Marin interjects. 

“Oh, yeah. That. They're calling me a Genimae.”

Claudia blinks. “Well. That's, that’s something.” 

Marin claps her hands. “I think this is a discussion best had inside. I'll make coffee, we’re gonna be here a while.” 

**+**

From his prison, the Lich felt a rush of glee. All of it was going perfectly. He'd have leverage of Lydia soon enough. She would free him, or the boy would die. 

They were all so perfectly clueless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing are getting interesting. We will check in on the Argents, and we'll see more of Scott's grandparents. Only a few more chapters.


	4. Aphelion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm not dead, just busy with college. In retrospect, they might as well be the same thing. Either way, salud.

**August**

August comes in like a wave, a final blast of gorgeous weather that will tide them to mid-October if they’re lucky. The suffocating heat of July is replaced as the dog days of summer come and the sleepy little town of Moonlight Falls grows sleepier still.

Allison walks up the steps of the newly finished mansion, where everything is sleek and modern, nothing but open space and light, so unlike the ancient manor she'd known her whole life. It was only through luck that the wing of the old house with all of the bedrooms and personal effects was spared the worst of the fire. Instead, their most precious items were blackened by soot and stank of fire, but otherwise, intact. 

She throws herself onto the her bed, sighing. She considers calling Scott, but he's still dealing with the fallout of his grandparents’ sudden arrival to the mortal coil, though Melissa seems to be  _ slowly  _ treading the path to reconciliation with her family.

She decides on calling Lydia, but only heads to voicemail. There's only one reason why Lydia wouldn't answer a call from her at a time like this, and she'd rather not visualize that. Allison is just glad Camden is happy with her best friend. Finally, she hits Stiles’ name in her phone and waits while it rings. 

‘ _ Hey, Ally.’  _ He answers.

“Hey, I'm bored as Hell, wanna go somewhere? We could to Portland, it’s only an hour away.” 

‘ _ I could use some entertainment. Your car or mine?’  _

“Mine. We are not risking a breakdown on the highway.” Allison resolves.

Stiles snorts. ‘ _ Fair enough. I'll be there in ten.’ _

Sure enough, a handful of minutes pass before Stiles is pulling up. He pauses, looking at the new home. 

The newly rebuilt Argent Manor stands in stark contrast to its predecessor. Only three floors high, what little of the walls that isn’t glass is made of tan wooden panels, with the sharp, geometric designs outlining the modern building. Stiles steps in, and sees the new interior is just as light and open as the exterior. The first floor is almost entirely one room, only divided by the placement of carpets and low, modern furniture. There's a minimalist sectional couch in an L-shape in one corner, focused inward on a large television, and a long glass-topped table with a set of white chairs around overlooking the backyard. The kitchen is mostly stainless steel, spare the counters, which are massive uninterrupted pieces of black granite. 

Allison is jetting down the set of Plexiglas stairs that juts from the walls, her hair up in a loose bun. 

“Hello, oh darling Stiles, mine.” She jokes, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. “Let's go, I wanna beat the noon traffic out of downtown so we can get to the fashion district.” 

Stiles follows her to her vehicle, and they talk amicably as she drives on the winding mountain roads out of town. 

“So, are you excited for the summer moon festival?” She grins at him. 

Stiles chuckles. “Confused, more like. I don't really get what's up with it.” 

“It's an old tradition. Back when the Argents and Hales were the only families in town, we almost killed each other a few times. Eventually, my grandfather and the alpha of the Hale pack at the time hammered out a truce, on the requirement that once a year, for the three days of a full moon, they join together to talk things out and to share meals and stuff. When people started moving into the town, they joined up. We kept up the pretense of a festival to celebrate the last full moon of the summer, and it became a town thing.” 

“And this involves getting you a nice dress why?” He queries. 

“Because, genius, the second night of the festival is the Lunar Dance. Everyone dresses up like it's prom and has a great time. We gotta get you a tux, too.” She regards him gravely.

Stiles nods. “I’ll rent something.”

“Uh-uh.” Allison shakes her head, fishing into her purse. She triumphantly pulls out a sleek silver card. “Solid titanium visa with no limit and airline miles out the wazoo. You're  _ buying  _ the nicest tuxedo we can find in Portland.” 

“Shit, Allison, that's too much.” He holds up a hand. “I can't accept that.” 

“Stiles, my house was insured for almost sixty million dollars, you're definitely helping me spend my portion of the money.” Allison argues. 

He looks at the item warily, and takes the heavy metallic credit card, sliding it into his pocket and pretending it isn't burning a hole into it. The drive isn't terribly long, just over an hour and a half, and they park the car on the streets of downtown Portland. Allison gets sight of some high-fashion boutique or other, and they're off.

**+**

Melissa sighs, running her fingers through her hair. She fights the urge to make something grow, even as she fidgets and twitches, emotions making the energy within her anxious to escape. If she's not careful, a full bouquet of roses may well pop out of her hair.

“Stop fussing.” Titania commands. “I can feel it.” 

“I'm a grown woman, Mother. I'll fuss if I want.” 

“You're thirty six, I'm fifty three hundred. You're hardly grown.” 

Oberon enters the room. “Girls, do we really have to fight? It's been sixteen years since we've seen each other, let's not argue.” 

Melissa rolls her eyes. “And you wonder why I left.” 

“We’re just worried about you.” Titania sighs, sitting next to her daughter. “Sixteen years is a long time away from the Homeland. Too long, and you'll lose the connection. You'll wither and die, like those humans you cavort with. The same for your son, who hasn't ever seen it.”

“Mother, would it be so terrible if I died? If Scott chose to remain here and die, as well?” Melissa asks. 

The older Faerie is aghast “Of course it would be awful! Why would you choose death?!” 

“It's a connection. Returning to the earth, as fundamental a reunion as possible. My energy returns to the universe, my body to the earth.” She says. “It's not like I’ll keel over tomorrow. I've still got another century in me, maybe more.” 

Oberon takes his daughter’s hands in his. “We don't want to lose you. We've lost enough.” 

“I understand, but what about what I want? I don't want to watch everyone come and go around me, watch Scott age and die and not be able to join him.” 

“Then take him with you. Come home. You've seen the way the humans live, it's not conducive to our way of life. We can't protect the earth forever, not the way they destroy it all.” Titania pleads. 

“They're learning. Slowly, but they're learning. They'll need us, need our help someday.” Melissa counters. “I haven't given up on them yet.” 

The older woman sighs, fidgeting with her hair in the manner her daughter inherited. “It's admirable, but a lost cause. Maybe, someday, when they're gone, we’ll be able to start over, reseed the dead world.” 

Melissa abruptly stands, staring at her mother in horror. “ _ Gabh transna ort fhéin!”  _ She cries in Gaelic. “I cannot believe you'd just relegate them to extinction!” 

“Hey!” Oberon snaps. “You shouldn't be talking like that!” 

“Once again, I'm a grown woman, I will speak as I want.” She snaps at her father. “Unbelievable.” 

“It's an inevitability!” Titania cries. “They're cruising towards the fossil record! Humanity will be remembered as a brief destructive force in the long history of Earth, an evolutionary reset, the end of the age of the primates and higher mammals.” 

“No, mother. You're wrong. It's different than when last you visited. They're making plans to ensure their survival. Other worlds, strange and distant environments they've never inhabited, seed vaults, genetic records to preserve endangered species. They're saving everything they can.” 

Her mother rolls her eyes. “It's not enough. It'll never be enough.” 

“Go.” Melissa sighs. “I'm so damn done with this debate. I'm so damn done with all of it.” She sits, head in her hands. “Both of you, just… leave.”

The room is filled with a painful, pregnant silence as the two elder Faeries try to process their daughter’s request. 

“Now!” Melissa barks, a rose bush exploding into bloom on the counter, brought about by her anger.

The two depart without another word. 

**+**

Camden can barely breathe. He'd never,  _ never  _ imagined sex could be anything like this. Lydia had been filled with a kind of literal energy, her magic pouring out and expressing itself as she reached the highest levels of passion, unable to control it as it set both of their bloods to boil and made their nerves sing in harmony. As they climaxed in tandem, he hadn't been able to tell where he began and she ended, the point of their joining feeling like the center of the universe, the very linchpin of existence. 

“I think I broke you.” He hears her laugh from the doorway. She's unashamedly naked as she wanders back from the bathroom, hair a mess, a trail of hickeys across her breasts.

“A little bit.” He laughs breathily. 

Lydia looks down at the bruises and love marks covering her form, and, with a slightly dissatisfied tone, waves a hand as she mutters out a spell. “ _ Eξαφανίζομαι.”  _ The blemishes vanish, and even the flush across her form evaporates. 

“Impressive.” Camden chuckles. 

“ _ Oh, oh, oh, it's magic, you knoooooow… _ ” Lydia croons jokingly as she settles in next to him on the bed. “When's Isaac due back?” She asks. 

“No clue.” He replies. “He’ll be back, though. Maybe he’ll bring us food! I would kill for something fried to eat!” Camden sits up, suddenly excited.

“Oh, maybe I need to keep my magic under better control than I thought.” Lydia murmurs. “Craving greasy, fatty food is a tell-tale sign of magical exhaustion.” 

“That's fine, just get me some fast food. That'd be the bee’s knees.” He says. 

She turns her head, looking at him strangely. “I forget you're from 1916 sometimes.” She chuckles. “I'll get Isaac to pick up some McDonald’s.” 

Camden is suddenly overwhelmed by a splitting headache, a sudden flash of agony that has him groaning, before vanishing just as suddenly. 

“Shit, Cam, are you okay?!” Lydia yelps, rushing to his side.

“Fine, fine. Just got a really bad headache for a second, no clue why.” 

Lydia runs a hand over his head, casting another spell. “ _ Αποκαλύπτω.”  _ She waits, face concentrated. “Nothing. Maybe just vertigo or something.” 

“Maybe. Now, can I get that McDonald's?” 

**+**

The stupidity of girl astounds the Lich. She'd let her magic run wild, forming a deep telepathic bond with her lover as they copulated, and he'd felt it, felt the raw power of her magic, and had taken complete advantage of it. She had turned the boy into a conduit, training his nervous system to ferry magic without overloading, and she'd left her own bond with him wide open the whole time. 

Now the boy is his. He has no magic to resist, nor the knowledge to understand that the flash of migraine was him placing his own claim on the boy, and he finally felt physical form once more, can take a body and free himself from the wretched amber prison the Lich has called home for over two damned millennia. 

Finally. Now to wait. 

**+**

“So, John, have you been seeing anyone?” Claudia asks, sitting criss-cross on the couch like she did all those years ago, clutching a warm mug of coffee. 

“No, been too busy with Stiles and the job of being Sheriff. Election campaigns kinda suck, but this is the only town in the county, so I don't have to meander and beg all over God’s creation to keep my job. Haven't even had a challenger in a couple of cycles.” He says, sitting in his own chair kitty-corner to his ex-wife. 

“That's good, I know Stiles was so proud when you decided you wanted to be Sheriff after Carter retired.” She nods. “I haven't really been seeing anyone, either. First it was Stiles, then my art. My life is so full of stuff as it is, romance just hasn't happened.” 

John nods. “I know the feeling. Some days, I think the paperwork on my desk is literally trying to kill me. No environment for a relationship.” 

“Agreed.” Claudia chuckles. “You know, I did miss this old house.” She grins wryly. “You ever fix that creaky step on the stairs?” 

“Nope.” 

“Figures. At least you've painted.” She notes the cool blue of the living room, different than the maroon of their married years. 

“Couple of times. There's a layer of green under that blue.” John says. “Melissa talked me into blue, said it was a soothing color, less vibrant.” 

Claudia smiles wistfully. “She still out in that cottage she had all those years ago?” 

“With a son, now. Scott, he's a couple months younger than Stiles. They're getting be really good friends.” John says approvingly. 

“I'm glad, he was always so detached in New York, and it's good he's getting some time with people besides the Hales.” 

“Yeah, the Hales…” He trails uncertainly. “They're uh, interesting people, aren't they?” 

There's a look in Claudia’s eye, the kind of sudden awareness he hasn't seen in a very long time. “Yes, very interesting.” She agrees, sipping her cup. “Just how much do you know about the Hales?” 

“Plenty.” John says. “Some very personal information, in fact. The kind some people would, uh, wolf down.”

“You're in the know.” Claudia smiles madly, pointing at him and laughing. “Thank God! I was hoping, but it sure as Hell wasn't my secret to give. So you're aware of Stiles, as well?” She asks, suddenly much more serious. 

“Yes, I was there, most of the time. Heard him screaming the whole way through. God, it almost killed me.” John’s voice becomes low and sotto. 

“I can't imagine… I should've been there.” 

John shakes his head. “Stiles left New York so you could have a life. You were entitled to that. Besides, we're all the better for it, in the end.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” She says.

John rises, taking the drained coffee mug from his ex wife, and walks towards the kitchen. He looks back from the doorway. “It's good to see you sitting on that couch, Clauds.” 

She smiles, pushing back her brown locks the way she used to in the early days of their failed romance. “It's good to be back, Johnny.” 

**+**

“Well?” Allison asks, twirling in the latest gown she's tried on. 

Stiles is a little stunned. The dress is glorious, there's no other word for it. It's got a gradient coloration, the upper chest is midnight black, running down to snowy white at the bottom, scraping the floor. The sleeves, shoulders, and neck are an illusion, tight and black over Allison’s pale skin. To top it off, the whole dress is covered in hundreds of flakes of glitter, reflecting and catching the boutique’s many lights. 

“I think I need to pick my jaw up off the floor.” He says. “I'm honestly stunned. This is flawless. How are you even real? Are you sure you didn't just hop out of a painting?” 

“I'm sure, Stiles.”

“Scotty is the second luckiest Faerie in existence.” He smiles. 

Allison can hear the joke coming a light year away. “Oh? And just who is the first?” She bites. 

“Me.” Stiles says, grinning proudly. “Sorry, Al, but Derek is just too flawless.” 

“You're not even gay, Stiles.” She rolls her eyes.

“Close enough.” 

Allison starts laughing. “Go try on that suit I found you.”

A couple of minutes later, Stiles returns, in a silver three piece suit, the slacks tight around his finest assets, and the vest showing off his trim waist, and his shoulders seeming even broader in the jacket. The black dress shoes are almost mirror-like they're so shiny, and they click softly with each step. To top it off, his bow tie shimmers subtly, standing stark against his pale skin and white dress shirt. 

“Perfect.” Allison declares. “Just perfect.”

**+**

The first night of the festival comes with all due fanfare. The entire town is out, it seems, the late afternoon sun glowing over the hills and illuminating the scene. 

Derek watches as Gwen and Peter compete in balloon darts, balancing Alexander on his hip. The baby is all too eager to chew on the candy necklace in his hands, and Derek is grateful he can just hand the hyperactive baby back to his parents when the time comes. 

“Derek!” Stiles calls from the distance. He's wearing a pair of tight silver jeans and a flattering black button down. “Last I knew, we didn't have any children.” He waves at Alexander as the little one flails his fist in an eager greeting. 

“Well, since his parents  _ abandoned him,”  _ Derek turns, faux-yelling to Peter and Gwen, “We've been forced to take on an orphan ward. The Robin to your Batman.” 

“Only if you're my endlessly charming butler, Alfred.” Stiles winks. “What about the M-O-O-N?” He leans in close, whispering. 

“They're leaving shortly. Kita isn't being allowed out tonight, either.” The wolf confirms. 

Stiles nods. “Making sure. So, what are we gonna do first?”

“Well, I have a duty first. The Argents and the Hales always open the festival. I shake Aidan’s hand, Laura shakes Allison's, Mom with Chris, Dad with Victoria. Old tradition that starts when the moon rises.” Derek says. “After that, there's games, rides, a Ferris wheel, and plenty of food. Or… we could just sneak to somewhere private.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the junction of Stiles’ neck, running his hands down the slighter man’s sides.

He chuckles, taking Derek’s hands and wrapping them in his. “As charming as you are, I'm not missing the festival. Everyone is gonna be there, and I refuse to get yelled at because I was off for some hanky panky.” 

The werewolf pouts, but does not argue. A few minutes later, Alexander is returned to his parents, and the town council introduces Talia and Chris, who shake hands, as does everyone else.

“As it was in 1843, so it is today. We declare this 173rd Summer Moon Festival to be open.” Talia says, speaking into the microphone. 

“Enjoy yourselves, everyone. And, don't forget, tomorrow is the Lunar Dance, so wear your finest and bring a date.” Chris concludes. 

Derek approaches Stiles after. “Always hated that.” 

“It's tradition.” Stiles argues. “Pomp and circumstance make or break an event.” 

The werewolf gives his boyfriend a strange look. “You spend too much time around Laura.” 

Stiles snorts, but doesn't reply, instead, he slips his hand into Derek’s and leads him off towards the Ferris wheel. 

Throughout the night, they meet with various people. At one point, Stiles gets his ass kicked by Erica Reyes at Dance Dance Revolution, and Derek beats Laura at balloon darts. Scott and Stiles go head-to-head with Isaac and Camden at boxing in a cheesy inflatable ring. It's declared a draw. 

The festival stretches until nearly two in the morning, at which point the crowds begin to trickle out, Stiles and Derek taking the jeep back to the Stilinski residence. The Sheriff has long since gone to bed, and, as a thank you for letting him drag him all around the festival, Stiles sinks to his knees and sucks Derek off with as much fervor and skill as he can manage. 

**+**

Lydia parks just outside the Lahey residence the next night, a nascent feeling of dread growing in her stomach. Traces of black magic encircle the property, making the air smell of sulfur and her hair stand on end.

She knocks, rocking on the balls of her feet, before twisting the door handle, and finding it locked. Unable to ignore the gnawing fear, Lydia waves a hand over the door and unlocks it. Stepping in, the stink of sulfur is overwhelming, and the room is a mess. Furniture is scattered, the sectional broken into its pieces. Isaac lies on the floor, his breathing shallow and weak. 

“Isaac!” She yells, rushing to him. “Isaac, wake up!” Lydia smacks his face, bringing him around. 

“Lyds?” He mumbles, only half awake. 

“What happened, Isaac? Where's Cam?” She shakes him, desperate to bring him to clarity. 

“Nem-” Isaac pauses, trying to think.

Unable to get a meaningful response, Lydia presses her fingers along Isaac’s psi-points, at the point of his chin, the point where his jaw turns, the intersection of the mandible to the skull, his temple, and the center of his forehead. Concentrating her magic, she forges a psychic link. 

_ “Εκάτη, κάνουμε το μυαλό μας ένα _ . _ ”  _ Lydia whispers. 

Isaac’s mind is a clusterfuck, simply put. His recent memories are twisted by dark magic, his perception of time bent and warped. Lydia concentrates, washing his damaged psyche clean. A clear picture of the events that have transpired occurs. 

_ Camden has been acting strange all day. Constantly doodling that symbol of the Hales’. What was it? Oh, right, a triskele or something. I should ask him what's wrong.  _

_ “Nothing!” _

_ That's a lie. Something's up.  _

_ “I'm going out.”  _

_ Maybe you should talk to Lydia.  _

_ “It's fine, Isaac!”  _

_ Dammit, Cam, you're not okay! _

_ “Leave it!”  _

_ No! I'm calling Lydia! _

_ There's a blast. The world is pain, I can't think straight. My vision is blurred. It hurts to breathe. I think I broke my arm. Out of the fog, Camden’s face appears, the sole focal point. His calm green eyes are milky white, glazed over.  _

_ “I’m going to the Nemeton.”  _

_ I hear nothing after, falling into unconsciousness.  _

Lydia pulls back, gasping. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit!” She yells. Those glazed eyes, she knows those glazed eyes. Those are the Lich’s eyes. He's taken Camden. Isaac looks at her, the fog gone from his eyes.

“It has him.” He says. “You have to stop it.” He passes out thereafter. 

She rips out her phone, dialing Deaton. He answers on the first ring. 

“He has Camden! He's fucking taken him and he's trying to escape!” She shrieks into the speaker. 

‘ _ Lydia, what's happened?!’  _ He frantically demands. 

“The fucking  _ Lich happened!”  _ She bellows. “Meet me at the Nemeton, we have to stop it! And send someone for Isaac, he's hurt!” 

‘ _ I’m on my way.’  _ He hangs up without another word.

Muttering luck and speed spells the whole way, Lydia rips across the roads to the Nemeton, never wavering below a hundred miles per hour, even as she whips along twists and turns. At the tree, the pathway into the library is open, and she's arrived before Deaton. 

“Camden!” She screams, running into the Nemeton’s antechamber. 

The door to the chamber where the Lich is imprisoned is wide open, and Camden is standing there, utterly frozen, gazing at the Lich behind his amber tomb. 

Lydia takes a breath, and squares herself at the Lich. “Let him go.” She orders. 

The monster chuckles, and his rotted voice carries from Camden’s mouth. “You don't give the orders here, little girl. I do. If you try to stop me, I’ll kill him, and take you, instead.” 

“Fucking let him go!” She bellows, magic flaring violently out of her. 

“Release me, and I will release him.” The Lich flatly demands. 

Lydia tensely stands, her anger forcing arcs of magical energy out, coalescing as glowing white spheres of unstable rage in her hands.

The dark Faerie snarls out of Camden’s mouth. “I see you require incentive.”

Camden begins floating upward, and slowly, his back arches backwards, all of his joints every so slightly twisting the wrong way. 

“What will give first? His fingers? Maybe his spine, or his elbows. He’s not terribly flexible, you know. Or maybe, it’ll be his neck.” 

A low whining sound comes from deep within Camden’s strained body, and finally, Lydia breaks. 

“Fine! Please, just stop it! Don’t hurt him!” She begs, and he falls to the floor like a rag doll. 

‘ _ Release me.’  _ The Lich rasps, speaking through their telepathic connection.

Slowly, Lydia draws her hand up, fingers splayed wide as she speaks. “ _ Απελευθερώ _ .”

There’s a sound like a bomb going off in the chamber, and shards of amber fly through the air, raining down on the two teenagers. The tangled black mass that is the Lich flies out of the room, shattering the doors, the glass cases in the library, and leaving only the small fragments of frozen tree sap as their source light. 

A mile or so away, as Deaton drives to the Nemeton, he feels it, deep in his chest, a growing sensation of ice at his core, and the slightest hint of the smell of death in his nostrils. 

He whispers to himself. “Lydia, what have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, y'all saw this one coming. Next chapter is the confrontation, then an epilogue, and I promise, no dopey wedding scenes this time. Drop a review, I require constant validation as a writer.


	5. Opposition

The Lunar Dance is in full swing. Derek wears an all black suit, spare the white tie tucked into the vest, almost opposite to Stiles’ suit. They dance together, the song channeled over the speakers softly chiming in piano notes, accompanied by a powerful brass section. The singer’s voice is a vibrant tenor, crooning of his self-doubt.

_‘I am desperate, if nothing else, in a holding pattern, to find myself,’_

Derek pulls Stiles close as they dance. “I love you.” He whispers, right into his ear. It’s the first time the words have left either of their mouths.

_‘I talk in circles, I talk in circles, I search for a signal, for a clue,’_

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond, until he suddenly does. “I love you, too.”

_‘How to feel different, how to feel new, like science fiction, bending truth,’_

Derek kisses him so sweetly it almost hurts, pouring so much emotion into the union of their lips that Stiles can barely breathe, can’t even think.

_‘No one, can unring this bell, unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new,’_

There’s a distant sound, like a cracking, that the two can hear, but the humans do not respond to. They both tense, looking towards the mountains it came from.

 _‘God knows, I am dissonance, waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune!’_ The song continues as Derek catches sight a black mass hurdling into the sky, backlit by the moon.

“What?” He whispers to himself.

The mass vanishes, and then, it’s like a bomb explodes around them. The air is hot and stinks of sulfur and death, and he’s flying through the air, his ears ringing as he struggles to process the incredible noise of the explosion.

Distantly, over the ringing in his ears, Derek can hear people screaming, and the sound, deep and sinister, of demonic laughter. He opens his eyes, and he can barely see. A choking black cloud has settled over the area, and he struggles to force himself off the ground, feeling the skin that was shredded on impact knit itself back together.

Stiles is there, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet, and speaking, but Derek can’t process it. Everything sounds distant and hollow, drowned out by the ringing in his ears. As his eyes clear, he’s able to peer through the onyx haze, and see the true extent of the horror. There are bodies everywhere, and black figures, skeletons with flesh made of smoke, grab at the living, slaughtering them with their bare hands. The fallen soon rise, dark bewitched corpses that fight with their skeletal comrades.

“Derek, listen to me!” Stiles’ voice comes into focus, as does the screaming, and the roar of flames, and the unholy sounds of the dead ripping people apart. “We have to leave, come on!”

Instantly, Derek is in the beta shift, golden eyes glowing and claws out. “Let’s go!” He snarls from between his extended canines.

The two run away from the impact, seeking out the light of the moon, now just barely visible as a white disk in the clouded air. They sprint, finally spilling out onto the street and clearing the sulfurous smoke. The whole of the park is consumed by it, and the city hall’s clock tower stands like a brick finger, the clock face shattered, and the gears hanging from between the metal frame. The fingers are stuck at 12:21.

“Derek, Stiles!” Laura comes scrambling up, also in the beta form. “Thank God! What the fuck are those things?!” She demands, pointing to one of the wraiths as it crawls out of the smoke.

“I don’t know, but I know I’m gonna kill it.” Derek snarls, charging the creature. It gives a terrible roar, and goes to grab Derek, but he’s faster, twisting the thing’s skull until it detaches. The monster’s smoke flesh falls off, and the skeleton falls to the ground, whatever magic that was enchanting it back to life clearly gone.

Just then, a howl fills the air, drawing a visceral reaction from Derek and Laura. The alpha’s call, the signal their mother lives, rings through the whole town. They all break off, running towards Talia’s position. The teenagers regroup, finding the Hale pack has rallied at a house a block or so from park.

Evan sags in physical relief when the three of them show. “Thank God.” He says, hugging each of them. “Gwen is on her way, Peter is staying with Kita and the baby.”

“Okay, not to ask the obvious question, but what the fuck is happening?!” Laura demands. “Did anyone else see those skeleton things?!”

Talia nods, her eyes burning red. “Wraiths. Black magic used to resurrect the dead as warriors.”

“Where the Hell are Deaton and Lydia?”

Evan shakes his head. “No clue, cell phones went dark a couple of minutes ago.”

There’s a frantic banging on the door of the house, making all of them jump, and sending Derek and Laura into defensive crouches.

“It’s Aidan and Allison!” Allison’s voice carries. Just then, the lights go dark, and only shafts of moonlight illuminate the room.

Stiles rushes to the door, ushering the two vampires in. “Where are your parents?” He asks.

“We got split up in the chaos.” Aidan says, running a hand through his hair and tearing off his shredded dress shirt.

They all follow suit, the women ripping apart their dresses and the men their suits, everyone fixing their hair to better suit combat. Talia passes hair ties to the girls, who quickly restrain their tresses. A distant scream carries to their enhanced ears.

Talia goes upstairs, and steps out onto a second floor balcony, belting out another howl. From the park, which is still filled with smoke and the writhing masses of undead, there is a strange response, a bastardized howl back, like sandpaper vocal chords rubbing as they scream. The smoke clears back, revealing the park, filled with dozens of wraiths. At the center, in plain black clothes, is an exceptionally handsome young boy, with a sharp jaw and cunning eyes. He locks with her, and she can see deep into his consciousness as he violates her mind, forcing a psychic link.

Talia fights it as best as she can, but the Lich is far too powerful. She nearly leaps from the balcony to reach him, but steady hands pull her back. With the eye contact broken, Talia is snapped back into her own mind, the link severed.

“Jesus!” Stiles gasps. “He had you enthralled!”

“I’m okay.” She responds, shaking her head. “Just a little shaken.”

They return to the living room, where the others have congregated. Suddenly, there’s a screech of tires outside, and Deaton and Lydia are tearing their way up the steps, and into the door, both screaming in a strange mix of Greek and English, seemingly at each other. Sparks of magic fly off the two as they holler.

 _“Από όλα τα ανεύθυνα, τα ανόητα πράγματα!”_ Deaton yells. “How could you-”

“Don’t throw that _Σκατά_ at me! He was in danger!” Lydia snipes back. _“ότι έγινε έγινε!”_

“Whoa!” Evan barks. “Calm down! What the Hell is going on?!”

Deaton glares at his protegé, and speaks in a more measured, though still furious tone. “Lydia freed him.”

The room explodes, almost everyone talking over each other. Finally, Derek roars, bringing the room into a stunned silence. “Explain.” He deadpans.

“Okay, so, it all started last month when the Lich attacked me…” Lydia begins.

She tells the whole story. The training, the dreams, the relationship with Camden. She struggles with tears as she recounts Isaac’s demolished mind, and Cam floating in the air, the Lich bending his fingers and limbs to the breaking point. The entire time, the room is silent. Only the growls and snarls of the dead punctuate her tale. At the end of it, she looks at the room. More than anything, there is disappointment in everyone’s face.

“Lyds…” Stiles trails. “You knew. You knew how dangerous that thing was. This evil almost destroyed the world. Hundreds of thousands died fighting it. And you couldn’t tell us that it had forced its way into your head, or at least prioritize and let it kill Camden instead of freeing it.”

“Don’t. Do not give me that. It promised it would take me if I let it kill Camden. It would have freed itself either way. I just hoped it would be merciful to us if I did it of my own free will. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Deaton severed the link.” She responds. “I know, I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up.” Laura glares. “You doomed us. Maybe everyone.”

Deaton raises a hand. “There is still a chance. A slim one. The Lich is weak right now. Very weak. There are secondary barriers around the town that will contain it and its creations, at least, until sunrise. They’re tethered to the moon, and they are weakest after the full moon. If we haven’t defeated it by sunrise, it will break free.”

Two sienna brown lights zoom through the room, swarming around each other, and revealing Scott and Melissa, their wings spread wide. Just as suddenly, simultaneous flashes of rainbow light bring in two others. Oberon and Titania, in their true forms, though not fifteen feet high. Oberon balances his diamond sword in his hand, and Titania already has an arrow knocked.

“Apologies for the lateness. Once we heard the call, I knew I had to get them.” Melissa gestures to her parents.

“More are on their way, and the Eldritch Council will be, as well. We’ll bring this to an end tonight.” Titania says, determined. “That animal took many lives. I owe him repayment for that.”

Two howls break, Ritsa and Gwen arriving through the back door. Eventually, the Argents arrive, and shockingly, so do John and Claudia, each bearing a shotgun, as well as holstered pistols and nightsticks.

“We heard Talia’s howl, and figured you’d all be here.” He says. “Some of the deputies are getting more weapons ready, we’ll have about ten more. The Coast Guard is an hour out from North Bend, and the Air Force has already scrambled fighters. They bomb the town unless we send up a signal by fifteen minutes before sunrise.”

“What’s the signal?” Stiles demands.

“Deaton, I was told to mention Crete. Does that mean anything?” John asks.

Recognition fills the witch’s eyes. “Yes. I know what the signal is. I won’t repeat it for fear of prying ears.”

Scott interrupts. “Wait, how is the government already on this? Aren’t we a secret to pretty much everybody but the President?”

“We have a functional agreement with the US military to protect this site. The commanding officers at North Bend and Kingsley Field are well aware of what’s here, and that we may require their assistance in dispatching it.” Oberon says. “The homeland maintains relations with the world beyond the scope of the Eldright Council and the Congress of the Night.”

Stiles nods. “Well, thank God. I don’t much feel like dying in an airstrike, but at least it’ll be contained.”

Deaton shakes his head. “An airstrike won’t cut it. We need very powerful explosives to dispatch the Lich.”

John nods. “Yep. If we fail and Deaton doesn’t send the signal, they’re going to nuke the town.”

“How does the government plan to justify nuking a small American town, exactly?” Ritsa flatly demands.

“The secret is out. President Obama will speak to the nation tonight. Ambassador Korriban is already with him. Our emissaries across the world will address their various governments. By tomorrow, one way or another, all the world will know the truth.” Titania says.

“We have five hours until sunrise. That means four hours and forty five minutes to deal with the Lich.” The Sheriff says.

Chris Argent is grave as he speaks. “We have to fight. We can’t wait, the barrier will delay the others.”

Evan nods in agreement. They steel themselves, twenty of them in all, and step out onto the porch. The air stinks of rot, and a fog permeates the whole town. The world is lit in shades of silver and blue, and the wraiths across the street turn to look at the source of the sound. They march and stand at the edge of the park, looking to where the Lich stands, looking up at the moon.

“So,” he turns to face them. “They sent an army after me last time. The best of the best, and were nearly defeated. Now, a ragtag pack, four washed up vampires, two humans, two witches, the Faerie royal family, and a halfling.” He laughs, a genuine, joyous laugh.

“How far you have fallen.” He says. A pair of black wings sprout from his back, and his eyes turn the same onyx. “Well, I’m bored, so I’ll give you my full attention.”

The wraiths, previously standing and wandering, turn their full focus on the ragtag band. There are snarls, growls, and other horrible noises. For a moment, the two sides, perhaps a hundred fifty of the undead and the twenty townies, stare each other down. Then, the peace shatters.

The zombies charge forward, reaching out to kill, and the group responds, rushing to meet their adversaries. The Stilinskis fire their weapons, sending gouts of brownish blood and rotted flesh away, killing their quarries in a single shot.

Derek is rapidly swamped by the writhing undead as he throws himself headlong in their grasp. He ignores the pain of their shredding hands and focuses inward, going into the full shift. The sudden transition to a massive wolf knocks his attackers away, and he takes the chance go forward, ripping at them.

The Lich watches bemusedly from the center of the park, a downright cocky smirk painted on his face as he sees his minions and enemies clash. Chris sees an opening, and takes it. He jumps over the horde of undead and takes off in a dead sprint, a blur of speed, right for the Lich.

Almost lazily, the Lich raises a hand, and a cloud of black smoke slams into Chris like a truck, sending him skittering back into the undead. There’s a sound like concrete snapping, and agonized screams, and Chris Argent is no more. Their quarry fallen, the wraiths abandon his body, revealing him ripped in two, a viscous, purple liquid oozing from his body.

Deaton, having been utterly focused on defensive spells and strengthening the others suddenly stops, and bellows in Greek.

 _“Αποβάλλω!”_ He screams, and the wraiths are blasted backwards, a magical barrier now separating them from the zombies.

“Dad!” The twins scream in duality. Victoria stares in numb horror at her husband’s remains.

“You see?!” The Lich calls. “It’s futile! Surrender, and I’ll be merciful in the new world to come!”

 _“Fuck you!”_ Allison screams in rage.

The Lich rolls his eyes. “I’ll forgive that slight as mortal grief. Don’t you understand what I’m offering you? All the wealth, power, and prestige you can imagine. An army of slaves for each of you! Command over nations and millions of humans. You’ll be my vassals, my enforcers! Humanity will tremble before the might of all of us!”

Deaton seems poised to respond, but is cut off as a flash of brilliant light reveals the Eldritch Council, followed by dozens more, a veritable army of witches, wolves, and the Fae. Puck stepped forward, leveling a calm, yet still hateful glare at the Lich.

“It’s been a long time, old friend.” He says.

The Lich smiles sadly. “Too long. And too bad.” The unspoken reality hung in the air. Someone would die tonight.

Just like that, the Lich again glares at the army before him. The Hales, Argents, and others have leveled quite a few of his wraiths, so he twists his own wrist, wrenching it so hard the crack can be heard across the park. Police sirens echo in the distance. Jerking his hand, the ground begins to shake as huge golems of stone and dirt rise, black smoke holding their half-formed bodies together. Then, something worse.

Pools of the black smoke form, and horrors arise from them. The Faeries that arrive are not the beautiful, nature-loving beings that everyone had come to know. These are Slua. Rotted, with malformed bodies and terrible, guttural groans and growls. Their wings flutter limply, holey and rotten, and their bodies are covered in decaying flesh. They hold oddly-shaped black weapons, which quickly reveal themselves to be made of obsidian.

 _“Déileáil leo.”_ The Lich orders.

There’s a momentary pause, the calm before the storm. Everyone squares themselves, the witches muttering prayers and spells in Greek and the Divine Tongue, the wolves orbiting around their Alphas. More Faeries pour through the portals, and Titania and Oberon rise to their full forms, fifteen feet high. Scott and Melissa shift themselves, not changing in height, but forming the same shimmering battle armor, and diamond-tipped weapons. Scott’s sword is shorter than his grandfather’s, more in the style of the Greek gladius, and Melissa holds an ornate, but still deadly spear.

The golems roar, and the Sluas snarl, and something breaks. Both sides gung-ho rush at each other, meeting halfway, and colliding in a mass of bodies and the ringing clang of diamond against obsidian.

Stiles runs for a huge golem, watching as it slams a fist down against a werewolf, who narrowly dodges the huge muddy limb. He jumps, running up the monster’s arm and delivering a body-slam against the side of the golem’s face, dislodging its jaw and sending its head wrenching to the side. The wounded beast roars and shakes its whole body, dislodging Stiles, but he finds purchase in a crack in the golem’s chest, and drags downward, ripping the small seam into a gaping wound. Reaching the ground, he looks up to see the monster's arm coming down at him. It stops dead, however. Stiles looks back to see a rail-thin pixie of a witch winking at him as she projects a force field around him.

“Go for the head!” She urges, and with that, she bolts back into the fray, flinging hexes from her fingertips.

Stiles takes her advice, coiling his whole body low to the ground and pouncing, fist-first, into the golem’s face. He feels the bones in his hand break and mend just a quickly, forcing his way through to mass of dirt. Finally, he breaks through, and rolls midair, landing with a dull thud. The golem’s body sways, before falling to its knees, and then the creature disintegrates, the magic holding it together vanished. A mountain of dirt and stone is left where the golem stood seconds earlier.

He looks up, and sees Allison in the fray. She’s surrounded by Slua, biting at their limbs as they reach to tear through her, ripping her arms and legs free of the vines the rotten Fae summon to restrain her. She breaks free, and jumps high into the air, performing a flip as she brings her fist down directly through the skull of one of the Slua, the dark Faerie’s body falling apart into a mass of bone as it dies.

Then, however, one of the other foe’s blade finds purchase in her spine, spilling through her chest, a spray of the same viscous purple fluid marking her gasp. The sword is pulled from Allison’s form, and she raises a shocked head to lock eyes with Scott, who screams for her.

“Allison!” He bellows, flying through the air as fast as he can. Not fast enough, though.

The gargantuan foot of another golem slams down, and there is that same sound of stone breaking as with Chris’ demise. The creature lifts its foot, and it’s plain to see that Allison is gone. Scott roars, and forces plants to grow in spite of the black magic keeping the golem alive. The huge clod of dirt explodes into bloom, vines, grasses, and all other forms of plant life covering the body, writhing and tearing it apart. Like its fallen comrade, there is nothing left but a mound of dirt.

Scott stares at Allison’s fallen corpse, mourning the word no over and over, utterly lost in himself, before his eyes harden, and his gladius is forming in his hands once more. He takes off like a bullet, flying in a whirlwind of siena energy directly at the Lich, and then, the unthinkable.

Scott’s sword plunges up through the Lich, piercing his heart and coming out through his back. Black smoke pours from the wound, and he locks eyes with Scott, utterly shocked. However, he grins madly, and grasps at the hilt of the diamond sword in his chest.

“That,” He taunts. “Was a bad mistake.”

He twists the sword within his own body, and it explodes into innumerable diamond shards. At the same time, a shockwave concusses outward, knocking everyone to their feet. The golems stumble, and the Slua are nearly ripped apart by the force. The wolves, all but a few in the full shift, are sent caterwauling over each other, yelping as they land in piles. Stiles catches sight of his mother clinging desperately to a light post with one arm and a sword of some kind with the other.

Scott flies through the air, his wings limp and form fragile. He impacts into the dirt, and does not rise. Smoke still rises from the wound in the Lich, but he seems otherwise unperturbed. There’s a feeling, though. None of them can explain it, but something intrinsic to the air, to the way his monsters fight, tells the resistance that he’s wounded, and that he’s scared.

They gather themselves, and are slowly corralled into the center of the park, surrounded by Slua and golems. Dozens are dead, though Stiles can see the entire Hale pack, and his parents. Fifty or so remain, all in a circle.

“Stiles!” Derek’s voice booms. He’s covered in the black blood of the dark Fae, golden eyes burning with relief.

“Derek!” Stiles cries, noting his mate in the beta shift. They wind up back to back. Stiles has acquired an obsidian spear from a fallen Slua, and he stabs at a wraith as he takes comfort from Derek’s warmth against his back.

Cora, in her shaggy wolf form, jumps atop a golem, slamming biting at its neck and head, bashing her hind legs against its chest. The creature falls, dragging Cora with it. She yelps, having broken a leg in the fall. She attempts to rise, but is suddenly swarmed upon by wraiths.

“No!” Derek bellows. He and Stiles both go sprinting for her, taking on the wraiths in hand to hand combat. Stiles runs up the side of the mound that was once a golem and uses it to propel himself forward and take out three of the wraiths with one well-aimed jab of his spear. Cora is able to shift out of her wolf form, and limps back towards the center of their huddle where the wounded are being tended to.

“Enough!” The Lich bellows, floating about the fray, his body backlit by the full moon. “Don’t you see how pointless this is?! I offer you once more! Surrender, and I shall reward you in the world to come!”

Puck floats up, bright purple against black, and levels his eyes with the Lich’s.

“No.” He says. “We choose death before surrender.”

“So be it.” The Lich simply replies.

The fight goes on.

**+**

Stiles’ watch says 3:42. Three hours they’ve been at it. And one to go. Unless they can defeat this monster, all of Moonlight Falls vanishes in atomic fire. He puts the spear through the skull of yet another wraith. That’s when he feels it. He’s been running on all cylinders for far too long, and his damn human heart has finally reached its last.

It starts with a tightness in his chest, a struggle to breathe. Then, his left arm goes numb. With Derek by his side, he collapses, clutching at his chest.

“D- Derek!” He gasps. “I- I- I-!”

Derek gasps in horror. “He’s having a heart attack!” He cries.

Instantly, there’s a collection of witches pulling Stiles back into the center, laying him with the other wounded. One of them cries for Theresa Nurse. Derek hollers for Talia, and she rushes over, out of the Alpha shift in a heartbeat.

“Get his parents!” Theresa orders.

Almost instantly, Claudia and John are by his side, each one clutching his hand. Derek stares in abject horror as everyone rushes around his fallen mate. Theresa looks at John and Claudia.

“We can save him, but I need you two to repeat exactly what I say!” She orders.

Claudia nods. “What do you need us to say!”

“Mother Hecate, we surrender our child to your will. Take him into your arms, and bless him as you see fit.” The witch instructs. “Got it?”

“Yes!” They both yell. “Mother Hecate, we surrender our child to your will. Take him into your arms, and bless him as you see fit!” They repeat.

“Talia, the minute I finish the incantation, you bite him, understand?!”

“But he’s too weak to-!”

“Just do it!” Theresa yells, and begins speaking in Greek. _“Η Εκάτη, κόρη του Νύχτα, μητέρα της μαγείας, πάρτε αυτό το παιδί, που προσφέρθηκε πρόθυμα από τους γονείς του και τον ευλόγησε σαν παιδί του φεγγαριού!_ Now!”

Talia does as order, and clamps down on Stiles’ wrist. Instantly, Stiles is flashed into the beta shift, his eyes glowing yellow, claws flashing, and the characteristic mutton chops descend down his jawline. He looks around, utterly bewildered, until a sharp focus enters his eyes.

“Holy shit!” John barks. “He’s a werewolf!”

Stiles whirls, and grins at his father. “Look at it this way, Pops! At least I’m not smoking!” And with that one-liner, he jumps over the crowd, and descends back into the fray.

Deaton has long forgone verbal magic, instead now, his thoughts are a constant stream of Greek and Divine as he hexes and curses his way through the battle. Even so, he knows it’s futile. There’s no winning. That’s when it hits him.

“Marin!” He barks, running to where his younger sister has just taken down another Slua. “I know what needs to be done!”

“What on Earth are you talking about!” She demands, half-paying attention as she forces a wraith down.

“The accident, back at the academy, you remember what the Oracle said to me?!” Deaton demands.

Marin’s eyes grow wide as dinner plates, and she yanks her older brother into the center of the circle.

“You can’t be serious!” She yells.

“I am.” He calmly retorts. “We knew I was living on borrowed time. The Oracle said so. ‘When you need this heart the most, it shall leave you.’ She was right, it’s time.”

Tears well in Marin’s eyes “Alan…”

“I know.” He hugs his little sister tightly. “Her training isn’t done. Take care of Lydia. I love you.”

Alan runs to his protegé, and pulls something from his shirt. A small, glowing white crystal rests in his palm.

“Lydia.” He stares at her evenly. “You know what you have to do.”

“Deaton, no! I won’t!” She shakes her head. “I absolutely refuse!” She thrusts the crystal back at him.

He opens her hand, and sets it there. “You have to. It’s prophecy. You have one shot, so don’t miss. Marin will complete your training. Be strong.” With a final hug, Deaton runs back to the center, surrounded by the wounded. He sits in the lotus style, and enters a deep meditative trance.

Lydia goes to run, but a massive root springs up, and begins to constrict around her. She flails, looking for someone, and finally, she sees Stiles.

“Stiles!” She screams. “Stiles, quick!”

The new wolf turns, and runs to her, slashing at the vine that is slowly encroaching. “I’ll get you out, Lyds!”

“No! No, put my hand on your face!” She orders. When he stares at her puzzled, she snaps. “Just do it, goddammit!” He follows her order, bending so she can reach his psi points.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Making a conduit. Take this crystal, and throw it at the Lich. And whatever you do, whatever you feel: Do. Not. Fight. It.” She warns. “Let the magic guide you, or it will destroy you.”

With that, she presses her hand to his psi points, and forges a bridge between their minds. She lets the magic flow, and lets Stiles go.

“You have to end this!” She yells.

There is no more Stiles, there is no more Lydia. They are one and the same. The bridge linking them is so wide up they’re practically two halves of the same whole. There are other bridges, bridges to Isaac and Camden, who wait in the Hale manor, pacing the carpet of the library with Peter and the baby. Stiles can feel the vines around Lydia as easily as he can the ground beneath his feet as he runs.

The crystal is glowing, and in his hand is now a lance of pure light, a bolt of magic energy so potent it vibrates the air around it. Stiles jumps onto a golem, running up on its side. He presses on, reaching its head. He’s forced to jump to avoid the angry monster’s swinging hands, and, from mid air, throws the lance. The Lich whirls, his eyes wide as he realizes what’s coming.

Stiles is caught in slow motion, falling to the earth as the Lich raises a hand, but too late. The lance makes contact, impacting in the center of his chest.

Everything after that is white.

**+**

The roar of jets overhead wakes Stiles. He sits up, and doesn’t recognize where he is. The sun is shining, early morning light filtering through the plastic window on the side of the hunter green tent. There are others, some awake, many asleep, on various cots surrounding him.

He’s struck by a moment of vertigo, but it passes, and Stiles rises from the cot. He calls out. “Hello?”

A doctor walks in, wearing camouflage and a blue beret. “Ah, the hero of the hour awakens!” He cheerfully greets in a thick British accent.

“Where am I?” Stiles asks.

“You, my dear werewolf,” The doctor offers a hand to shake, “Are in Camp Moonlight. The United Nations Peacekeepers are quite busy today, especially in the US. Riots, protests, even a few acts of terror have left your domestic forces a bit thin stretched, so we’ve stepped in. Don’t worry, nothing like that is happening here. You’re still in Moonlight Falls, but…” He trails.

“But?” Stiles asks.

“Well, maybe it’s best I let you see for yourself.” The doctor leads him to the exit.

Outside, there’s a veritable tent city set up along the shores of the Nehalem River. Beyond that, Stiles can see the clock tower in the park still standing, but badly damaged. He directs his eyes lower, where he can see that most of the buildings in town are either collapsed or badly damaged at best.

“Jesus.” He chokes.

“Yeah, it’s a right mess.” The doctor sighs. “You’re a priority one patient, and a supernatural at that, so I’ve been asked to let you know that your family is waiting at the Hale manor. I can maybe get you a ride over there, or…?”

“No, I’m, uh, I’m good. Thank you.” Stiles says, feeling for his keys in his pocket. “I appreciate this.”

“You’re quite welcome. And you’re quite lucky.”

Stiles turns back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“That boy of yours.” The doctor explains. “He loves you, very much.”

“I know he does. I love him, too.”

Stiles finds Roscoe in the parking lot next to the park, ripped on his side. Using his handy new werewolf strength, he easily rights the vehicle, and pouts at the scratches all along the side it was rolled onto, and makes a solemn promise to buff them out by hand. He jumps into the Jeep, and prays that Roscoe will start.

By a miracle, the old Jeep does start. The roads are pretty crowded with townies moving towards the camp, so Stiles slowly drives, noting the school has almost entirely collapsed. He stops at his house, and could almost weep.

The Stilinski residence is mostly standing, sheltered from the worst of the blast by the denser part of downtown Moonlight Falls. The tree in the yard has crushed the garage and punctured the roof, the windows and doors are all blown out, and the front porch is completely collapsed, but otherwise, the house is pretty okay.

Stepping in, Stiles runs upstairs and changes clothes, wiping the broken glass off of his bedspread as he does. He sits on the bed, and runs his hands through his hair, finally taking stock. Allison. Chris. Deaton. Scott. Who knows how many people from the town and and how many that came with the Eldritch Council. All dead. Finally, he lays down, and sobs into his pillow.

After his grieving, Stiles again rises, and goes outside, driving towards the Hale house. Roscoe faithfully putters his way towards the manor, across the bridge that is luckily still standing. Along Valley View Drive, he stops, peering in at Isaac and Camden’s place. There are fallen trees all over the yard, but the single story building is mostly intact. The Hale residence is a different story.

Stiles is helpless but to choke in horror at the sight of the building. Half the house is gone, collapsed into the basement. The front door is broken off its hinges, and the half of the house not collapsed sags heavily, the outside siding warped and snapped off in places. Cora looks up, running towards the Jeep as he pulls into the yard.

“Thank God!” She yells, hugging him when he disembarks.

He returns the hug easily, with tears watering in his eyes. “Yeah. Hey, where’s my parents?”

“Your Dad is with the military, he’s giving a statement. Your mom is out back, helping recover stuff from the house. Derek’s with her.” Cora says.

“Thank you.” He sniffles, hugging her tighter.

“Okay, easy, Stilinski. You’re getting a little too touchy-feely.”

“Shut up and let me be glad you’re alive.”

She makes a face, but doesn’t resist the hug. In the backyard, Stiles rushes to hug his mother, taking stock of her scent and her warmth. Derek keeps a respectful distance, knowing his time is coming. Finally, Stiles and Claudia break.

Stiles looks to Derek, and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He tries again, but can only produce sounds.

“Shhh.” Derek says, holding a finger to his lips as he draws in closer. “I know.” With that, he kisses him, long and deep and sweetly.

They’re broken by the sound of a vehicle approaching. The three of them rush to the front yard, and see Talia and Marin hopping out of the Camaro.

“Stiles!” Talia breathes, rushing to hug her newest beta. “How are you adjusting?”

“It’s… it’s good.”

Marin hesitantly interrupts. “Stiles, I imagine you have a great deal of questions.”

He nods. “Yeah. Like, what the Hell did I do last night?”

“Alan took an apprentice, which is a much more common way of witches to pass on their training. However, he and I went to the magical academy in New York, where we were trained in the arts by many witches. During our time there, there was an accident. It almost killed my brother. His life force was bound into a crystal, and that crystal was magically placed into his heart.” She pauses, steadying herself.

“As we graduated from the academy, we all went to the Oracle of Delphi, now moved to Manhattan. She prophesied that when he would need that crystal most, it would leave him. She was right.” Marin blots tears away from her eyes.

Stiles hugs her tightly. Derek comes up from behind, taking his hand.

“Well,” Derek says. “Let’s make the most of his sacrifice.”


	6. Epilogue: Syzygy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the end, I promise it was worth the wait. At least, I think it was.

**Seven Years Later  
August, 2023**

Lydia looks up from her herb garden, and grins. The pale blue 2019 Jeep Wrangler, lovingly named Roscoe Jr., comes to a halt in the driveway to what was once Isaac and Camden’s house, now belonging her and Camden.

“Lyds! We’re gonna be late!” Stiles calls, waving from the Jeep’s open window.

She can’t help but smile wider. “I’m seven months pregnant, I’ve been late for a while!”

“Gross, Lydia.” Stiles deadpans.

She shrugs. “It’s your kid.” Lydia hops into the back seat of the car, buckling in.

“ _Our_ kid, thank you. It’s half mine, you know.” Derek corrects.

Stiles smiles, kissing his husband on the cheek. “Yes, how could we forget. And, for the eight hundredth time, thank you for magicking us a baby and being so generous to carry it, Lydia.”

“I’d say anytime, but I’m gonna need some time after this.”

The drive to the memorial service is filled with top forty hits and bad jokes, though things take on a decidedly more somber tone when they park outside the old town hall.

A decision was made to preserve the damaged town hall as a memorial to the three hundred and six souls lost in the battle against the Lich. Magically held together, the clock tower still sits frozen at 12:21, the rusted old hands unmoving since the moment the Lich arrived so explosively. In front of the old brick structure is the memorial fountain.

The fountain is enchanted, a low, round reflecting pool with only a single jet of water rising from the center of the pool. All around the rim are the names of the fallen, each carved in their handwriting. Stiles walks up to the name on the fountain he’s been to so many times that it’s second nature to run his fingers over the elegant, looping script.

“Allison Argent.” He says, waiting. The fountain’s magic kicks in. The jet kicks up, sending a spray of water high in the air. A rainbow forms on the droplets, and her visage forms, hovering in the air.

 _‘Hello.’_ The magical hologram speaks. _‘My name is Allison, but everyone called me Ally. I was born on September 12, 2000. I was a vampire, though I never drank human blood. Are there any questions you wanted to ask me?’_

He smiles sadly, and shakes his head. “No. I just wanted to thank you. For being who you were.”

 _‘I’d say you’re welcome, but I’m not that self-absorbed.’_ The projection chuckles. _‘Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the memorial.’_

“Come on, Stiles.” Derek urges. “Ceremony starts in five.”

He takes a breath. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The two walk into the former chamber of the town council. The room is larger than one would expect for such a small town, a huge hemicircular auditorium, with a stage set at the base. The ceiling is filled with holes, letting the sun filter in. Vines hang from the rafters, a tree sapling grows in a section of seats, and flowers crawl up the walls and spring from the cracks in the floor, or hang down in long strips from the ceiling, wrapped around the vines. There’s a few hundred people seated in the auditorium already, and Derek and Stiles make their way down to the section nearest the stage, which is reserved for the veterans of the battle to defeat the Lich.

They sit with the rest of the Hale pack, now expanded to include Laura’s husband Corrin, their son James, as well as a very pregnant Cora. Her own husband is at a conference in Chicago, so she sits with her parents. Aidan, Victoria, and now Danny Argent are seated a row behind them. Melissa, her parents, Isaac and Scott are next to them. Yes, Scott. Though he spent two months comatose following the battle with the Lich, he had survived. And nearly a year after, he had gone on to enter a long term relationship with Isaac, though there has yet to be an engagement announcement.

Marin, Camden, and Lydia all sit on the opposite side of them. Camden and Isaac have become the do the first Sparks in four hundred years, their psychic links with Lydia transferring that magic across in the final moments of the battle against the Lich. They’ve since been well trained, and are content as witches. The rest of the section is filled with the dozens of other witches, wolves, Fae, and local law enforcement who fought.

A voice breaks over the speaker setup. _‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Mayor of Moonlight Falls, John Stilinski, and his wife.’_

John and Claudia march out onto the stage hand in hand. Claudia hugs him tightly, and then takes her seat next to Stiles in the crowd. John positions himself behind a podium, and addresses the assembled crowd.

“I’d like to open this memorial service with a moment of silence for the fallen.” He says.

Everyone bows their heads, remembering their dead. After a few seconds, they raise them again.

“Thank you.” John says. “I’d also like to thank the Eldritch Council, as well as Senators Merkley and Wyden, and Governor Richards, for their attendance. August 18, 2016, will forever be remembered as the day the world learned the truth, and three hundred and six people gave their lives to save the world. Since then, so much has changed. Magic and technology, the raw strengths of mortal humans and our supernatural counterparts, have fused and made new and amazing things. Toxic wastelands have been healed, and a hidden society integrated.”

John pauses. “The road hasn’t been easy, but it’s been well worth it. This place is proof of just that. We stand, mortal and supernatural, united in our loss, and in our resolve. It’s uneasy at times, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make it work. The election of supernaturals across the world has proven that we can mix, and we can do so peacefully. Peace is something we must work at, every day. It’s too easy to backslide, to fall into the old fearful ways. But the old ways are called such for a reason. We are not who we once were. We are better, I promise. And I’ll leave you with a final quote.” He stops, pulling a sheet of paper.

“‘ _It is often when night looks darkest, it is often before the fever breaks that one senses the gathering momentum for change, when one feels that resurrection of hope in the midst of despair and apathy.’_ Resurrect your hope. It’ll see you through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. Once again all wrapped up. It’s been a gas, and please, for all that is good and wolfy, drop a review. Cheers, everyone.


End file.
